


Nothing Goes Wrong Part 2

by OneSaltyErik



Series: Nothing Goes Wrong [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Technoblade - Fandom
Genre: (don't ask questions I'm still working out the world building as I go), (not quite sure what's up with this retelling cause it's post apocalypse but also fantasy?), Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, BAMF Philza, BAMF Technoblade, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Brotherhood, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dadza, DreamSMP - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Flashbacks, Found Family, Ghosts, Hallucinations, Hearing Voices, HeavilyImpliedPsychosisSymptoms, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Medical Procedures, Other, Philza is trying, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, References of Mental Illness, References of Torture, Self Care, Sick Character, Swordfighting, Swords, Violence, Whump, non shipping, soft scenes, some canon divergence, they are brothers your honour!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28540707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneSaltyErik/pseuds/OneSaltyErik
Summary: Technoblade is recovering from his injuries, and has discovered a rude little rodent man living in his basement, who is full of trauma.Philza is struggling to cope with his own trauma.And many years ago, a rogue wanderer is desperately trying to raise a troubled pink haired boy.
Series: Nothing Goes Wrong [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090898
Comments: 53
Kudos: 162





	1. To man has been given the grief, often, of seeing his gods overthrown and his altars crumbling; but to the wolf and the wild dog that have come in to crouch at man's feet, this grief has never come. - Jack London, White Fang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Philza saves the life of a child.  
> An older Philza nearly loses his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Young Philza learns the hard way to never challenge a toddler to a race. 
> 
> CW: Implied child abuse, graphic description of blood and injury

Many Years Ago 

Phil wasn’t sure what to make of the sight before him. 

He had been on the road for about a week by now. Days from any civilisation. There was nothing for miles aside from forests and the occasional ruin. 

So why was there a child on the road? 

He looked to be no older than four or five at the most. Tousled brown hair caked in dust and dirt hung loosely over his face. His clothes, once brightly coloured, regal even, were little more than mud covered rags. His hands and knees were scratched and bruised. His dark eyes stared blankly upward from where he lay on the road. If it weren’t for the faint whimpering cry he made, Phil would’ve thought him to be dead. 

The young man froze, glancing around. This had to be an illusion, some sort of trap. There was no way a child could be this far out in the wilderness. Especially not a child with those clothes, the bits of gems and jewels however dirty were still a sign of royalty. What sort of royal child would just be out there in the middle of nowhere? 

Unless, there had been an ambush? 

But then, why would the attackers leave something they could use for a hostage?

Unless this _was_ the trap?

Before Phil could ponder any further about the sight before him, the boy’s head turned, weakly looking up at him with pleading eyes. 

“...mister…?” a faint voice croaked. 

Phil bolted towards the child, quickly running through his training in his mind, scanning his surroundings. He wasn’t going to leave the child, but he wasn’t about to be attacked by anyone either, if this was indeed a trap. 

He cast out his senses, projecting his mind into the forest around him, unscrewing his canteen as he knelt beside the child. 

“Hey mate.” He smiled, slipping a hand beneath the boy’s head. “You ok? Where’s your parents?” 

To his relief, he sensed nothing. No one lying in wait within the trees, just the occasional animal or bird that dashed through the brush. 

“...daddy...where’s....” the boy’s voice was so hoarse. 

Phil shook his head as he pulled himself back into his mind, gently sitting the boy up, holding the canteen to his lips. “Here mate, just take a drink. You can tell me in a bit.” 

The boy took a weak sip, then another, then snatched the canteen in his hands and began to chug. 

Phil quickly pried the canteen away before the boy could choke.

“Slowly bud.” he patted the boy’s head. Gods the poor kid was thirsty! How long had he been out here? 

After a long moment of nearly inhaling the water, the boy finally seemed to come to. He still looked exhausted, but his eyes were no longer deadened at least. 

“Feeling a bit better there mate?” Phil asked, wrapping his spare cloak around the boy. 

“Hm!” the boy nodded, then frowned. “You’re a stranger.” 

He seemed to turn his nose up, literally, at Phil. 

“Daddy said to never talk to strangers!” 

Phil blinked. _Oh boy…_

“Well,” he nodded in agreement. “Your daddy is very right. You shouldn’t talk to strangers, but-” 

“Espec...spec..specawy” the poor boy failed to pronounce, “when they are hybwids!” 

_...ouch…_

Phil took a breath. So this kid was from one of _those_ families. 

Still, it looked as though the boy had been out here for a while, and it wasn’t as though he could just leave him. His conscience would never forgive him if he did. 

“Well,” he crossed his arms, puzzling over how to work out this conundrum he had just been presented with. 

There was no way in hell he was going to leave a kid, out here in the middle of nowhere, on his own. But, he couldn’t expect this kid to just blindly trust him either. 

“Hmmm.” he had a thought. “Well, would you like to go back home to your daddy then?” 

The boy’s eyes lit up, then darkened. 

“Nuh uh!” he crossed his arms as well. 

Phil raised an eyebrow. That...wasn’t what he had expected. 

“Why not?” 

The boy seemed to take a moment, his expression morphing rapidly from contempt to confusion, to utter bewilderment, and then hurt. Within seconds the boy had begun to bawl. 

Phil fluffed his wings, sighing. Gods he was never good with kids. Just what had he said? What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do?

How his own parents had managed with him had been a mystery…

He sighed. 

“Are you ok?” he finally asked. Often the simplest of questions could lead to the most useful of knowledge, he remembered his father had told him. It was time to put that theory to the test. 

The boy shook his head. “No!” 

“Why are you not ok?” Phil settled himself down beside the boy, tucking the cloak closer around the child. To his surprise, the boy pulled the cloak tighter about himself, burying his face into it. 

The boy sniffled. 

“Daddy didn’t want…” he wiped a wad of snot from his nose. 

_Ew…_ Phil cringed. 

“Daddy...daddy didn’t want...Warren.” the boy hiccuped. 

“Is that your name?” Phil asked. “Warren?” 

“Nuh uh.” the boy’s hiccups continued to worsen. “My bwuther.” 

Phil was taken aback. What sort of parent just abandoned their child? Unless...

“Your daddy didn’t want your brother?” 

“He didn’t like Warren.” the boy’s voice nearly dropped to a whisper as he glanced around, fear beginning to cross his face. 

“Mister?” he looked up at Phil, his eyes wide. “Warren’s a hybwid! Like you!” 

_Well then._ Phil closed his eyes, slowing his breathing against the seething rage he felt towards whoever this boy’s father was. _That would explain it._

He released a held breath as he opened his eyes, smiling gently. 

“But you’re out here, because…?” 

The boy looked around cautiously once more. 

“Don’t tell anyone!” he whispered, a sly grin crossing his face. “I hid in the wagon!” 

“Ooh! Clever!” Phil stood, holding his hand out for the boy to take. If what he was gathering from the kid was correct, there was another child around here, somewhere. 

Alone. 

In the middle of the woods. 

With night rapidly approaching. 

_Gods what am I doing?!_

He felt a dried, dusty hand grab his own. 

“Woah!” the boy stared up at him. “You have big wings mister!” 

Phil chuckled. “Thought you weren’t supposed to talk to hybrids?” 

The boy clapped his mouth shut with an audible _puh_ sound and looked away. 

“Uh uh!” he shook his head. “Not at all!” 

“So I guess you can’t tell me where the wagon went then.” Phil sighed dramatically. “Oh well.” 

The boy whimpered, then shook his head again. 

“I can too!” he insisted, pointing down the dusty road, framed by dark pine trees. “It was going this way!” 

Phil tipped his hat against the sun, following where the boy had pointed. His eye caught sight of a faint set of footprints. However, they led towards where the two stood, rather than where the wagon had supposedly gone. 

“Hmm.” he pointed out the prints. “Did you walk back the way you came?” 

The boy nodded. 

“For how long you reckon?” 

The boy counted on his free hand. 

“A day!” he proudly held up three fingers. 

“May-maybe, if you fly way up!” the boy raised his hand up in emphasis. “You can see them!” 

“I was thinking exactly that!” Phil smiled. 

“And then-and then we can fly and then we can catch up!” the boy jumped excitedly. “And then we can get Warren! And then we can go home!” 

_I don’t know about that…_

If this “Warren” wasn’t wanted by his own father, not to mention if this kid’s father or anyone who was affiliated with him saw this kid with Phil, there was no telling what could happen. 

“I bet you can fly really really REALLY far mister!” the boy pulled on Phil’s hand. 

“I can.” Phil nodded. Oh gods, what should he do? Should he just take the kid to the nearest town and hope for the best? But then, if he left the other…

“Why are you walking if you can fly?” the boy asked. “If I- if I had wings I’d go zooooom all-all over!” 

“Why don’t you run all the time when you can walk?” Phil answered with his own question. 

The boy pulled his hand away. 

“I can-I can totally run so fast!” 

Before Phil could even comprehend what had happened, the boy had bolted down the road. 

_Wait shit fuck no!_

___________

  
  
  


“You’re still under house arrest!” 

Phil clawed his way back into the house, kicking the door shut behind him as he dropped to his knees, gasping and laughing in confusion and shock. 

_He’s alive!_ He leaned back against the wall, pressing a hand to his mouth, stifling his teary laughter. _He’s alive! He’s alive!_

He couldn’t help it. The mixture of shock, of joy, of utter bafflement, and an underlying buzz of fear, churned within his mind. The only thing he could do was laugh until his chest hurt and his eyes were watery and his mouth tasted metallic-

 _Metallic?!_ he realised with a start. 

He pulled his hand from his mouth. It came away splattered in dark crimson. 

It was only then he noticed the crossbow bolt lodged in his left pectoral. 

So the laughing _hadn’t_ caused that. 

The world began to warp suddenly, the floor grew wobbly beneath his knees as he felt himself begin to fall. 

He managed to catch himself before he hit the ground, fighting the dizzying nausea that began to grow from behind his eyes. 

He could laugh about the stupidity of the Butcher Party later. He could celebrate his son being alive later. 

Now, however.... 

Phil grit his teeth and slowly dragged himself back to his feet, leaning against the wall, his mind churning with how he was supposed to proceed now. 

_Potion first._

Potions before anything at this point, he told himself as he carefully made his way towards the kitchen. 

_Healing potion. Then remove the bolt. Then keep pressure on the wound._ He listed to himself as he shakily opened a cabinet, carefully selecting a small bottle before quickly downing it. 

He choked, coughing. Red droplets began to form on his countertop as he felt his wings trembling behind him. The world was spinning. 

Phil jumped at the loud banging sound against the door, the movement jogged the bolt, sending a sharp pain through his chest. 

He could barely hear what was being shouted through the door as his vision flashed red, then white, then grey. He tried to respond to the voice, only to realise his own was gone. 

The last thing he heard before the world faded to black, was the sound of the door being slammed open, and Tubbo’s cry of disbelief. 

Phil crumpled to the floor and his mind went blank.


	2. Fear urged him to go back, but growth drove him on. ― Jack London, White Fang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno hasn't seen Tommy in months and something is very, very wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: PTSD flashbacks, implied child abuse, referenced past trauma

“Get out of my pantry.” Techno chucked a spoon at the back of Tommy’s head as the boy dug through the shelves. “Fucking racoon.” 

“Hey!” the boy’s arms were full of bread, crumbling and dried from the back of the pantry. “I’m fucking hungry! What you can’t share? Pig boy?” 

“Trust me, you don’t want those.” Techno held a hand out. “Give em here, they went bad about a week ago. You’ll get sick.” 

Tommy blinked. “A week ago?” 

“You say that like you’re shocked that dried, mouldy bread is bad for you.” Techno stated flatly. 

“...so that's why I’ve been feeling so terrible.” Tommy mumbled, before proceeding to take a bite out of the bread. 

“Gods dammit Tommy!” Techno pried the bread away from the boy. “Don’t tell me you’ve been eating this shit for an entire- wait…” 

_Kick the baby…_

_Tommy…_

_Dumb baby…._

_Racoon boy…_

_Living in the floorboards…_

_Skitter skitter rodent man…_

_Kick the baby…_

_E…_

_Tommy…_

_Hello Tommy…_

_Kick the baby…_

“Have you been living in my floorboards for a week?!” 

“Well more like forty eight hours.” Tommy replied, staring absently at the floor. “Or was it a week? Maybe it was a week. Fuck...how long has it been?” 

Techno twitched his ears, baffled. Tommy was...odd. Well, Tommy was always odd, but he seemed...odder. Different to his usual weird. In a wrong sort of way. 

_Exile did him wonders…_

_Bitch boy…_

_Bitch boy…_

_E…_

_E…_

_Hi Tommy…_

_Hug the child…_

_Kick the baby…_

“Tommy,” Techno set the bread down on the countertop, his voice softening. “How long exactly have you been living here? Under my house I mean?” 

Tommy continued to stare at the floor, his fingers began to pick at various scabs across his knuckles. “I don’t...I don’t know…?” 

“Did you know this was my house?” Techno studied the boy’s face, his once blue eyes had an odd greyish tinge to them. He looked gaunt. 

“I think so?” Tommy made a quick glance at the older man before quickly looking back at the floor again. “I dunno...I dunno I just...I’ll leave if you want me to.” 

“I never said I wanted you to leave.” Techno took Tommy’s hand, holding it up to the light of the window as he turned it this way and that. To his surprise, the boy didn’t pull away. That was...concerning. 

The cuts and bruises and scabbing on the boy’s knuckles were also concerning. 

_Hurt…_

_Ouch…_

_Hurt the child…_

_Punt the child and run…_

_Kick the baby…_

_Bloody hands…_

_Blood…_

_Fighting…_

_Fight Tommy…_

_Tommy…_

_Tommy hurt…_

_Hurt Tommy…_

_E…_

“Tommy what happened?” he asked bluntly. 

“What do you mean what happened?” Tommy jerked his hand away, his tone shifted dangerously, then immediately returned to the near apologetic whisper it had been before. “S-sorry. I don’t-I didn’t mean to...I mean…” 

The forced smile that crossed his face as he looked back at his older brother sent chills down Techno’s spine. 

“I mean, any chance to piss you off ey?” the blonde chuckled. “Hey, didn’t you promise me tea earlier?” 

“Hmm.” Techno nodded, something was very, very wrong. “Kettle’s still warm, go sit down.” 

The boy, still wearing that spine chilling grin, took a seat at the kitchen table. 

“Tea’s nice.” he mumbled. “Been ages since I’ve had tea. Better than whatever that drink was I tried to make. Hey Techno you know grass boiled in water just makes it taste like liquid salad? Really kinda bad. And seaweed broth, that’s a thing. Didn’t know it was a thing, tastes really salty but not too bad once you get the mixture right. Not very filling but it hits the spot when you’ve been craving salt for a while.” 

“Uh huh.” Techno twitched his ears, putting together a mug for both of them as he listened to the boy ramble. Occasionally glancing back at him whenever he seemed to slow in his speech.

Tommy looked so, so tired. His eyes were red with a heavy sleeplessness. The exhaustion seemed to weigh across his frame, sucking his skin tight against his bones, like some wounded creature desperately drinking what could be its last real taste of water. Despite his rapid, manic speech, his voice was hoarse, as if he had begun to lose it. 

A grey, sickly haze clung to his ragged clothes and bandaged skin. The old blood that coated his hands and feet, now browned and dried with age, seeped into the scent of the sickness, threatening to strangle him. 

Techno blinked away the vision of a grey, blood soaked being, slowly wrapping its hands around his brother’s throat, and poured out the water into the mugs. 

“Couldn’t find any cookies,” he set the mug before Tommy with a small plate of dried meats. 

“Biscuits…” Tommy mumbled. 

“But these are still good.” Techno ignored the correction, at least that was still there. The difference in semantics. Perhaps that was a good sign? 

“We’ll need to bake some more bread. Most of my stores were on their way out before I-” he paused, unsure of how much exactly he should tell Tommy about the Butcher Party. His wounds were still fresh on his body, still aching with every movement. Would Tommy, in the state he was in, even want to know what had happened? Would it make things worse? Or would it only hurt to keep it from him? 

At the very least, he couldn’t tell him about Tubbo. 

“Before what?” Tommy asked, gnawing on a stick of dried meat. He hadn’t touched his tea. 

“Techno you look like shit.” he finally took a swig of the tea, a look of puzzlement crossed his face, before he nearly down the entire mug. “That wasn’t an insult. Well it was, but it was meant as a statement. You look like shit.” 

“And you’re just dying to know why I take it?” Techno sipped from his mug. 

_Pain…_

_Pain…_

_So much pain…_

_Make them pay…_

_Make them pay…_

_Blood…_

_Blood for the blood god…_

_Pain…_

_Make it hurt…_

He shut his eyes, focusing on the bitter-sweet brew of the tea, letting the honeyed dregs seep across his throat. 

“Well…” Tommy’s voice dropped back to a mumble. “Only if you’re alright with- never mind never mind! It’s ok, I don’t really, I mean, I do, I just-” 

“I was executed.” Techno took a deep breath as the voices began to scream at the flood of memories that began to pour into his head. “They failed, obviously.” 

_Hurts…_

_Pain…_

_PAIN…_

_Still hurts…_

_So much pain…_

_Kill them…_

_Killed you…_

_Tried to kill you…_

_Make them hurt...._

_Kill them…_

_KILL…_

“Who?” Tommy’s voice cut sharply through his mind. 

“Some of L’Manburg’s boys.” Techno slowly let the breath out, hissing as the movement strained the wounds within his chest. “I’m not sure why, they gave some very confusing reasons.” 

“The Withers?” Tommy asked cautiously. 

“That’s part of it.” Techno took another sip, refusing to open his eyes lest he see the Butcher Party tearing Tommy to pieces before him. 

“And fair enough, that at least, I was expecting.” he continued. “What I don’t understand is what their long term goal is with this.” 

“I made it clear, if they left me alone, I wouldn’t come looking to bother them.” he finally opened his eyes. “But now, they’ve gone and done...this.” 

He chuckled quietly, gesturing to his, well, all of him. 

_So much for subtlety._

He saw Tommy’s hands tighten around the mug, though his eyes continued to stare into the now empty drink as he nodded. He couldn’t read the boy’s face. 

“...you did hurt them though.” Tommy muttered. 

Techno finished his tea. “I know.” 

“You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I made my conditions clear, I stuck to my end of the bargain.” Techno stood, taking the empty mug to the sink. “They got what I warned them I would give.” 

“You nearly killed us all!” Tommy snapped. “You almost killed Tubbo! You almost killed me!” 

Techno closed his eyes once more, letting the cold water of the sink wash over his hands, listening to the hiss of the faucet in an attempt to drown out the voices as they began to scream once more. 

“If it weren’t for your stupid fucking stunt, Wilbur wouldn’t have died in that explosion!” 

There was a blur of red in Techno’s eyes and a loud crashing in his ears. A series of images flashed within his mind as the voices shrieked. Withers, fire, a sword glistening red with the flames and blood, Phil’s blonde hair bathed in crimson and cradling a broken, familiar figure. 

He came to, on his hands and knees, gasping. The mug lay shattered some ways away. Tommy was staring at him from across the kitchen, his legs were shaking, his eyes wide. 

“Techno...I’m-I’m sorry I-” the boy stammered. 

_He doesn’t know?!_

“I’ll-I’ll go.” 

Techno’s head shot up at the sound of footsteps bolting out of the room. 

_Gods dammit!_ He snarled, slamming a fist into the floor, before pulling himself back to his feet. 

_Run away…_

_Run away boy…_

_Leave…_

_Let him go…_

_Chase him…_

_Hurt…_

_He hurts…_

_Help him…_

_Help Tommy…_

_Tommy no…_

_We love you Tommy…_

_We love you…_

Techno shrugged on his cloak, buckling his sword into place on his hip, before heading out the door after his brother.


	3. The Wild still lingered in him and the wolf in him merely slept. ― Jack London, White Fang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Philza finds a feral, hurt boy in the woods.  
> A wounded Techno goes in search of his frightened brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: blood and injury, implied child abuse
> 
> BAMF Techno gets to be scary

Many Years Ago

Phil gripped his wrist tightly, holding back the flow of blood from the three, deep gashes across his skin. 

“It’s ok mate.” He smiled, ignoring the sting in his wrist. “I won’t hurt you, it’s ok.” 

Before him, huddled up against the base of a large tree, was the boy called Warren. 

It had taken him nearly two days to find him. The boy’s sibling, Wilbur, hadn’t made it easy, with his constant comments and questions whenever he tried to meditate, it was a wonder he’d been able to pick up the trail of the twin at all. 

But, he had found him. And now, he had a new problem on his hands. 

The boy, his hair a bright pink and tangled around his face, was shaking, whimpering. His eyes were red, bloodshot, whipping back and forth within their sockets as he flung his hands this way and that, as though batting away some invisible force only he could see. There was a deep cut across his face, old, possibly by a few days, and a horrid welt of purple around his neck. Dried blood caked his clawed fingertips. 

Phil could easily gather what had happened to him. It wasn’t too hard to guess. The boy’s mother must have had some latent hybrid gene within her, only expressing itself in one of the twins. The father, from what Wilbur had told him, hadn’t been too happy upon discovering that both his wife and one of his sons were the very things he despised. The second he had the chance, he had gotten rid of the offending offspring. Or, so he thought. 

_ Shouldn’t have tried to take his hand. _ Phil berated himself. It was doubtful Warren had ever seen a man who hadn’t tried to hurt him. 

“Mister?” he felt Wilbur grip the back of his shirt nervously. 

Phil smiled, hoping to calm both of the boys. “Yes Wil?” 

“Warren…” the boy’s brown eyes flicked back and forth between his brother, trembling beneath the tree, and Phil. “Warren....Warren sees things.” 

Phil slowly sat down, hoping his actions showed he wasn’t a threat to the boy. 

“Warren sees things?” he repeated the question, looking back at the pink haired boy. 

Warren was now staring at him, still shaking, but his eyes were locked in place. Their red irises following the rivulets of blood across Phil’s wound. 

“Momma said Warren can see things that aren’t-that aren’t there.” Wilbur joined Phil, sitting beside him. “He hears things too. Momma said they’re mean things that daddy says.” 

“And that’s-thats why he hits people.” Wilbur whispered. “Daddy didn’t want him so-so Warren hits and scratches real bad but that just makes Daddy yell and-and Daddy…” 

“Daddy’s mean.” he whimpered, staring in a mixture of confusion and pain at his brother. 

Phil looked back at the pink haired boy. 

“And your momma?” he asked. “Was she mean too?” 

“Nuh uh!” Wilbur shook his head. 

To Phil’s surprise, Warren’s head seemed to shake as well. 

“Momma’s real-real nice!” Wilbur smiled. “Right Warren? Momma’s nice.” 

Warren nodded, then shook his head. 

“Momma…” his voice was hardly more than a whisper. 

Phil thought for a long moment, there was a connection being formed with him and Warren, at least there seemed to be something sparking whenever the boy’s mother was mentioned. 

“Can you tell me more about your momma?” he asked the boys. 

“Mm!” Wilbur smiled. “She’s-she’s really pretty! She’s got very nice singing.” 

“Momma…” Warren hugged his arms around himself. 

Phil noticed a wad of ragged cloth the pink haired boy cradled to his chest. Something metallic clinked within it. 

“A singer huh?” Phil took his satchel off and began rummaging through it, slowly so as not to spook Warren. 

“Uh huh!” Wilbur nodded emphatically. “She-she has the most beaut-beautifullestest voice in the WHOLE world!” 

Phil finally found a small roll of linen and began to wrap it around his wound. 

“Really?” he smiled at Warren. 

Warren began to rock back and forth on his heels, a small whimper occasionally breaking from him as he continued to stare at Phil’s now bandaged arm. 

“...momma…” 

“Momma sings to Warren when he-when he’s not feeling good!” Wilbur tilted his head towards his brother. “Maybe-maybe he’ll feel better if we sing?” 

_ Oh no… _ Phil couldn’t sing. Hell, what if the singing just made it worse at this point? 

As he continued to ponder on what to do, to his surprise, he heard a soft warbling tune from Wilbur. 

The boy sat up straight, his eyes closed, his hand tapping out a beat on his shoe. And a voice that should not have been possible in a child sang out amongst the woods. 

"O, where are you going? To scar and a fair.” The boy began, his pronunciations struggled but his tune was true. “Sober and gwave grows merry in time.” 

“...sober...grows...time….” To Phil’s amazement, Warren actually responded. His voice was monotone, still raspy, there was clearly no effort to hold the tune alongside his brother. But still, the repetition seemed to bring him out of wherever his mind had gone. 

"Remember me to a lass who lives there,” Wilbur continued. 

Warren uncurled from where he was, his red eyes relaxing, his hands unclasping from where they gripped. He looked at Phil, then Wilbur, then Phil once more. 

“For once she was a twue love of mine.” Wilbur opened his eyes, smiling at Warren. 

“...mine...mine…” Warren mumbled quietly. “...my...momma…” 

“Mister Phil is really nice Warren.” Wilbur grinned, patting Phil’s arm. “He can take us back to momma!” 

In that instant, three things happened. 

Warren, to Phil’s shock, flung himself at the man, burying his face in his arms, sobbing. Phil noticed, in between patting the boy’s head and reassuring him that he was safe, that the cloth the boy had held was wrapped about a golden tiara encrusted with emeralds. 

And thirdly, Phil could hear Warren’s voice between the sobs. 

“...killed...momma...killed..my...momma…” 

His blood ran cold. 

_______________________

It took far too long for Techno to find his younger brother. He thought it would have been easy, Tommy was hardly one for stealth and his bloodied footprints from his raw, bare feet on the snow left an easy to follow trail. 

So then why was it that he just couldn’t seem to catch up to him? 

“Tommy!” he shouted into the woods. 

It was growing dark. The wind knocked Carl’s mane about, the charger snorted as a puff of fresh snow blew past his nose. 

Techno tucked his cloak tighter around him, his breath fogging within the frosty air as he tapped his heels against Carl’s sides, urging the horse onwards. 

Tommy had still been in the ragged clothes he had found him in when he had left, he didn’t even have shoes, his feet were bloodied and wrapped in rags. He couldn’t have made it this far into the woods, not with this cold. 

But the trail still led onwards, deeper into the darkened pine forest. Techno had no choice but to follow. 

“Tommy!” he shouted once more, then paused. Up ahead he could have sworn he heard someone respond, but…

“...here...Techno...here…”

_ Techno… _

_ Techno… _

_ Go away… _

_ Big brother… _

_ Bro… _

_ Go away… _

_ Techno… _

_ Tommy… _

_ Tommy… _

Techno noticed Carl’s ears twitch, but not in the direction of the voice. 

He knew enough to trust the horse over his own ears and urged the charger forward, where he had indicated. Sure enough, the path drifted away from where he had thought he heard the voice. 

He patted Carl’s neck. “You’re a lifesaver old man, you know that?” 

Carl huffed, sending a spiral of foggy breath streaming upwards through the trees, his ears twitching occasionally. 

“Good boy.” Techno ran his fingers through the thick mane. “You tell me if I’m starting to lose it.” 

The two continued through the forest as the night began to set in. The sounds of clicking bones and the occasional moan of various creatures echoed hollowly through the pines. Now and then Techno could have sworn he heard Tommy’s voice. A faint whimper, a cry, manic laughter, all coming from different directions. 

_ Tommy… _

_ Tommy… _

_ Techno find him… _

_ GO AWAY… _

_ Fuck off… _

_ Bitch boy… _

_ Catch him.. _

_ CHASE… _

_ BLOOD… _

_ HUNT… _

_ Not Tommy… _

_ Tommy… _

He tapped his clawed fingertips rhythmically against the pommel of Carl’s saddle, the patterned clicking noise muffling the screaming in his mind as he trusted the horse to lead him in the right direction in the dying light. 

“Tommy!” He called out once more as he noticed the bloodied footprints suddenly intersect with another set of tracks. Humanoid and shambling. 

Carl’s ears perked forward and he snorted, tossing his head against the reins. 

Techno let him have his head as he tapped his heels against his flanks, urging the horse into a charge. Up ahead he could already hear what Carl must have heard, Tommy’s panicked screams. 

He grit his teeth, locking his knees into the saddle as he released the reins, drawing his longsword from its sheath on Carl’s back. Pain shot through his wounded shoulder and he bit back a cry, hissing between his teeth as the movement tore at the injured bone and muscle. But he gripped the sword against his numbed fingers as Carl thundered forwards. 

They broke past the dark line of trees and into a clearing, Tommy was flailing a stick wildly, shrieking in terror at the horde of undead rushing towards him. 

Techno barely had time to scream at him to “get down” before Carl slammed into one of the undead with a disgusting splattering noise. 

“I told you to get your head down you dumbass!” Techno shouted, lopping the head off of one of the assailants as he steered Carl with his knees. The horse plunged himself between Tommy and another undead, knocking the poor boy to the ground and crushing the skull of his attacker between his hooves, as Techno neatly cleaved the head off another. 

He steered the charger in a circle around his brother, driving the hoard back with each swing of the blade, before turning to Tommy. 

“Get on!” he held a hand out. 

The boy stared at his clawed hand, now splattered with the gore of the offending hoard. 

“Tommy we don’t have time for this!” Techno kicked at the head of a shambling undead. “Get on!” 

“You shot Tubbo!” Tommy screamed. 

“Tommy you really need to find a better time to address your grudges!” Techno tapped Carl’s side, the charger reared upwards, kicking against the hoard. Just how many undead were there out here?! 

Before either he or Tommy could make another move, Techno heard a loud, resounding crack of frozen ground being broken behind him, followed by his brother’s pained shriek as an undead burst up through the snow. 

He whirled around, dropping his longsword as he leapt off of Carl’s back, drawing his broadsword from his hip. The voices screamed as he slammed both his feet into his brother’s attacker, knocking them to the ground before cleaving their body in two. 

Once he knew the undead beneath him would never move again, he quickly stepped back, crouching over Tommy’s fallen frame, eyeing the hoard that began to surround him. He could hear Carl behind him, pawing the ground with his hooves, eager to leap back into the fray. 

The voices continued screaming, now morphing into an all too familiar chant, as he felt the once dull ache in his chest and shoulder climb into a shrieking agony from his movements. 

His vision began to flash red. 

“Tommy.” he stated, unbuckling his cloak and throwing it over the boy, staring up at him in a mixture of awe and fear. “Keep your head down.” 

“Whatever happens,” he ordered. “DO. NOT. LOOK. AT. ME.” 

The second he saw Tommy’s wide, blue eyes, duck underneath the cloak, Techno unleashed. 

There had been a time, long ago, where he knew that he could never have returned from a state like this. The taste of blood in his mouth, the echoing screams, the chanting in his mind. 

_ BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! _

_ BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD KING! _

_ TECHNOBLADE NEVER DIES! _

_ BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! _

The numbing of the pain, the thrill of the chase, the salty spray of the ichor of his prey across his face. 

It was hell. 

It was Valhalla. 

And none knew Death more intimately than he. 

Techno came to, lying in the snow, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. 

_ Blood… _

_ Blood… _

_ Kill… _

_ Pain… _

_ PAIN… _

He clenched his eyes shut as the pain finally hit, knocking the breath from his lungs. His wounds had reopened. He could feel the blood beginning to seep from the gash and puncture in his chest and abdomen, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. 

He choked back a cry of pain as he shakily dragged himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his sword. 

_ Pain… _

_ Pain… _

_ Hurt… _

_ Hurts so much… _

_ Hurt… _

_ Hurt Tommy… _

_ Tommy… _

_ Tommy screamed… _

_ Tommy hurt… _

“Tommy?” he called out, finally looking out across the clearing. 

The bodies of the undead lay strewn in pieces, hacked to little more than mince and gore. Carl stood, thankfully unharmed, in the centre of the clearing by a shaky ball of bloody cloak. Techno stumbled his way towards the two, gingerly kneeling before the shaking huddle, before lifting the edge of the cloak up. 

Tommy was curled on his side underneath, the snow near his back was soaked red. His eyes were wide as he stared up in fear and confusion and some other unidentifiable emotion. 

Techno held out his hand once more. 

“I’m not gonna force you to stay with me if you don’t want to, Tommy.” he sighed. “I know you’re upset with me. I get that. But we can work that out later if that’s what you want.” 

“Right now though,” he looked into the boy’s glazed, blue eyes. They seemed so...so hurt. Hurt and lost and confused. “You’re bleeding. At least let me help you with that before you decide if you want to stay or not.” 

“You don’t want me.” Tommy shook his head. “No one wants me.” 

“If I didn’t want you to at least be safe, do you think I would have bothered to come get you?” Techno hissed. What the hell had happened to Tommy? 

“Now,” he put his hand out again. “Do you want me to patch you up or not?” 

There was a long pause. 

The voices mumbled nonsense in Techno’s head. 

Tommy’s eyes continued to glance warily back and forth between his brother and the snow below him. 

Tommy took his hand. 


	4. His outlook was bleak and materialistic. The world as he saw it was a fierce and brutal world, a world without warmth, a world in which caresses and affection and the bright sweetness of spirit did not exist. ― Jack London, White Fang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Philza struggles to understand his sons.  
> An older Philza regrets his many mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The villagers are not deaf, they just don't speak. I thought that would be a good way to explain why they don't talk in-game. Sign language is used within this chapter, as most sign language I've encountered leaves out unnecessary filler words, I've written it as similarly as possible. Will alter if asked otherwise.)
> 
> CW: Implied child abuse, graphic description of injury, emotional trauma

Many Years Ago

“You know child health?” Phil signed with his free hand. “Healer?”

The villager nodded, responding with a short wave of their hand. “Yes.” 

Phil sighed in relief, following the supposed healer into their house. 

It had been nearly a week since he had found the two boys, and in that time, he had resolved not to return them to whoever their father was. There was no way in hell he was giving them back to that man, not after what he had seen with Warren. 

But what was he to do now, he wondered? 

Warren shifted in his grip, hiding his face within Phil’s shoulder, mumbling incoherently. Wilbur hung onto the man’s sleeve, huddling close to his side as he eyed what would certainly have been a strange sight for the youngster. 

Phil doubted any noble human would have ever taken their charge’s anywhere near a village of this sort. The low, thatched roofs of the houses nearly brushed the top of Phil’s hat. The muddied, unpaved paths that criss-crossed the place were riddled with footprints and deep gouges where carts had driven through. People bustled this way and that, and Wilbur’s eyes darted from person to person with a mixture of curiosity and caution. 

Warren whimpered at the various sounds and burrowed further into Phil’s shoulder. He gave the boy a reassuring pat on the back, wincing as the child shied away from the touch. 

_ Not too much pressure. _ He reminded himself, instead resorting to just lightly brushing the boy’s hair from his face. 

Warren seemed to relax, if only for a bit. His mumblings grew quieter as he fidgeted with Phil’s coat. He knew the boy’s fright was not from the villagers. 

While the people in villages like these were fairly peaceful, they were different enough from an average human that most noble houses avoided them when possible. They looked human, but like most creatures of this world, they never spoke. Not verbally anyhow. They weren’t deaf, nor mute, they could vocalise and even sing, they just, never spoke. 

They still communicated just fine, Phil never knew why no one bothered to pick up sign language, it was fairly easy to hold conversation with and even barter with them with the common signs. 

“Here.” the villager patted the top of a table. “Set.” 

Phil gently set Warren on the table, the boy whimpered, burying his face further into Phil’s coat. 

“It’s alright,” he stroked the boy’s hair. “I’m not leaving.” 

The house itself was rather small, shadows drifted across the walls, cluttered with herbs and utensils of some kind. A few bright lights glittered through the small windows from the outside, flashing across the wall. 

Warren began to shake his head, mumbling louder as the lights flashed past his eyes.

“You father?” the villager signed. 

“No.” Phil shook his head. “Found them.” 

“Why are you waving?” Wilbur asked. 

“I’m talking to them.” Phil explained. “It’s called sign language. I need to ask him about your brother, would you like me to teach you later?” 

“Mm!” Wilbur nodded, before sitting down at Phil’s feet, humming to himself. 

Warren continued to shake as Phil gently pried his hands from him, the boy’s eyes were glancing this way and that, as though hearing something Phil couldn’t. 

_ He probably is though… _

“Hears things.” he explained to the healer. “Sees things. None there. Scare easily. No sleep.” 

He gestured to the still red welt across the boy’s face, then the bruise on his neck. 

“Father hurt him.” 

The healer’s face darkened. “Easy to see why scared.” 

Phil continued to explain the events of the last week, retelling what he had understood from Wilbur and Warren. That the two had been separated, Warren went with his mother someplace, and when he returned the father had wanted him gone. Wilbur had snuck into the wagon meant to take Warren to...somewhere...not even Phil could fully understand what had been said to him. At some point, Wilbur had fallen off the wagon, and had met Phil. 

Before either of them had found Warren, however…

Phil paused in his explanation, glancing worriedly at Wilbur. The boy seemed uninterested in their conversation, busying himself with a large black feather that had fallen from Phil’s wings. 

“Mother was killed.” he explained in sign. “Warren saw. Voices told him to hurt the man who killed his mother. Not remember much. Hurt more men. Woke up with me.” 

He held his arm up, the bandage still stained with dried blood. 

“I don’t know what to do.” he said, and signed. “I want to help him, but I don’t know how.” 

He felt Warren nuzzle into his coat once more, rocking back and forth. Phil ran his fingers through the boy’s hair reassuringly. 

The healer’s ancient eyes watched the boy with an odd softness, before turning back to Phil. 

“May?” they held their hand out, indicating to see Phil’s arm. “Let him watch.” 

“Hey mate,” Phil nudged Warren’s head. “The nice healer is gonna help you. See?” 

He held his hand out to the healer, Warren’s red eyes following cautiously. 

The healer unwrapped the bandage on Phil’s arm, inspecting the wound as the boy continued to watch, occasionally glancing up at the man for reassurance. 

“I’m fine, see?” Phil smiled as the healer cleaned the wound, before applying a salve and wrapping it back up with a clean set of bandages. 

“Can you let them do the same for you?” Phil pointed to his own face, indicating the welt across Warren’s. 

The boy slowly reached his hand out to the new bandages, running his fingers over them. 

“...blood…” he whispered. 

“No blood.” Phil shook his head. “I’m fine mate. There’s no more blood, see?” 

The boy nodded, his fingers curling around the bandage, then releasing before running along the linen, tracing out the lines of the folds with one hand, touching the edges of the cut on his face with the other. 

He held his own hand out towards the healer. “...no blood…” 

The healer smiled and began to carefully clean off the wound on Warren’s face, stopping whenever the boy whimpered or moved away. It took far longer than Phil had hoped for, but eventually, Warren lay asleep in his arms, the cut on his face covered lightly in linen and salve. 

“Not too tight.” the healer had indicated. “Uncomfortable.” 

Wilbur had fallen asleep by his feet, Phil had realised, his head leaning against his legs. 

“Thank you.” he signed, careful not to wake the sleeping Warren. 

“What about the voices?” he asked. “The visions? What do I do?” 

The healer handed him a roll of linen before signing, “He has patterns.” 

“What about patterns?” Phil asked. 

“Repetition. Reality.” the healer gestured towards Warren. “No way to make like you or me. But can heal.” 

“I don’t...I don’t understand?” 

The healer took his hand. “He has patterns. Patterns that hurt. Patterns from a bad man.” 

“Repeat hurts. Repeat pain.” the healer explained. “Hears and sees these patterns over and over. That his reality.” 

“Needs new patterns, new repetition.” the healer smiled, placing Phil’s hand on the back of Warren’s head. “Small patterns, loving patterns. Patterns he repeats to create new reality.” 

Phil was still uncertain of what the healer had meant when he settled in for the night. 

He had ensured he bought another blanket from the village, one that was softer for the boys, unlike his usual scratchy wool. The two were now tucked under their new gift, Wilbur was sprawled on his back, snoring softly. While Warren was curled on his side. His small, flopped piglin ears, twitching occasionally. 

Phil stretched his wings out behind him, pondering the day’s events as he brewed himself some tea over the campfire. Nothing too complicated, just a simple brew his father had taught him some years ago. Laced with mint and light to the taste, it was a comforting treat. 

He held the mug to his chest and leaned back against the tree he had chosen as their campsite. 

Gods what had he signed up for? He wasn’t ready for this. 

He took a sip of the tea, gods he wasn’t ready for this.

His eye caught sight of a faint, green colour flicking at the edge of his vision from his satchel. The tiara he had found Warren with. 

He carefully unwrapped it from his satchel, inspecting it in the firelight. The five little emeralds on the golden circlet danced with a gilded tinge in his eyes. There was a faint crusting of dried blood where Warren had held it. 

The crown of a dead noblewoman. 

He wondered what she must have been like? To have agreed to marry someone so despicable as to abandon, possibly even kill their own son? And yet, despite that, to have cared for that son with her life? 

Did she know what she was before she had children? Did her views alter? Were they ever altered? Was Warren an exception? Or had she never had such a prejudice even cross her mind? 

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard Warren begin to whimper. 

_ Not again. _ He set the tiara and tea aside as he went to comfort the boy. He hadn’t known what to do the last few times this had happened, most nights he just waited, rubbing the boy’s back until Wilbur woke up and sang him to sleep again. 

The words of the healer echoed in his mind however, the memory of how the boy had buried his face into his coat, and a new thought sprung into being. He carefully picked up the boy, who was now flailing his arms about, sobbing incoherently. And placed his ear against his chest. 

“It’s ok mate.” he shushed, breathing slowly. “It’s ok, I’ve got ya.” 

It took a minute, but soon enough the effect he’d been hoping for began to take place. Warren’s sobs began to quiet, his whimpers slowed in time with his breaths. His mumbling became words, repeating what Phil said. 

“...ok...ok...m’ ok…” 

Phil placed a wing over the boy, shutting the rest of the world out in a muffled, warm cocoon. And for the first time in a week, he and the boys managed to sleep through the remainder of the night.

________________________

Philza’s eyes slowly blinked open, the golden light of noon filtered into his bedroom through the slats on the window. The scent of cedar and flour drifted about his senses, tinged slightly with the sweetness of honey. 

With a start, he remembered the crossbow bolt, and reflexively grasped at it. Only to seize up as a hollow pain burst through his chest. His cry of pain was silent, he realised with a horrid dread, his voice was gone. 

His lung had collapsed. 

He couldn’t move. He lay there, slowly taking in his surroundings, steadying his breathing. Someone, he wasn’t sure who, must have taken him to his room and tended to his wounds. He could feel a bandage cinched tightly about his chest, restricting his breathing even further than it already was, but what else could they do? 

They didn’t want him dead, at least there was that much. 

Just how long had he been unconscious for though? 

Gods he was dizzy…

He felt as if he had only closed his eyes for a minute when he realised it was growing dark. He must have drifted off…

Understandable, he was exhausted. 

He was thirsty too. 

He needed to find a way to get up. Somehow…

“Phil?” 

If he had the ability to do so, he would have sighed in relief as Tubbo’s voice crept softly through the door. 

“Oh thank gods, you’re up!” he felt the boy’s calloused hand touch his forehead. “...gods you’re cold…” 

He was? Phil didn’t feel cold...then again, warmth sounded wonderful right about now. 

He felt another blanket being drawn over him before he finally saw Tubbo in the fading, shadowy light. His son’s eyes were bloodshot with sleeplessness, a faint sheen of dried tears shone on his cheeks. 

The pain he saw in his boy’s eyes hurt worse than the wound in his chest. 

“...Tubbo…” he weakly raised his hand. 

Tubbo took it. 

“Phil I’m sorry.” the boy pressed his forehead into Phil’s hand. “I’m so sorry! I was just-I-” 

Phil ran his fingers through the boy’s hair, there were so many words he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to explain. He couldn’t. He could barely breathe as it was. 

Tubbo pulled Phil’s hand from his hair, holding it tightly as he set his jaw. 

“I’ll go get you some tea.” he mumbled, releasing the hand as he turned towards the door. “The others agreed you shouldn’t-shouldn't.... you-you need to wait out the rest of your sentence.” 

Phil closed his eyes, listening to the familiar footsteps of his son wander through the house. If current events hadn’t dictated otherwise, he would have enjoyed the sounds far more. He missed the days he would wake up late in the heat of summer to the footsteps of his youngest’s running about the house, laughing as they rough-housed outside his room. He missed their smiles. Their carefree playfulness. 

He should never have left. 

“I added some willow to it.” he blinked as Tubbo entered, carrying a steaming mug. “For the pain.” 

_ He remembered. _ Phil smiled softly, taking the mug with a shaky hand. 

“I thought-you know, maybe…” Tubbo took a seat on the floor beside the bed, rubbing at the base of his horns. “Well I remembered you told me about willow bark being a pain killer so uh...yeah.” 

Phil took a sip of the tea. It wasn’t bad, incredibly sweet but he wasn’t one to complain at the moment. 

“...honey?” he asked weakly. 

“Oh yeah, yeah.” Tubbo nodded. “I brought some extra over. The bees have been doing real well. I got more flowers planted recently in the greenhouse and they’re really liking them. Lavender I think?” 

He nodded to himself. “Yeah, lavender, smells real nice. I can bring some over for you if you want. I’ve heard it’s good in teas and you can make potions with it for anxiety and such.” 

“Hah!” he laughed. “Gods, I could use some of that ey?” 

“...being...president…” Phil coughed, his chest seizing with pain once more. 

“Shit! Fuck I’m sorry!” he felt Tubbo take the tea before he dropped it. 

“I shouldn’t be- I’m sorry I…” the boy’s voice trailed off once more as he felt his hand touch his forehead. Phil leaned into the hand, closing his eyes against the pain. That calloused and scarred hand, when had Tubbo’s hands ever been so rough? He remembered them being calloused yes, from his days of searching through the soil for the perfect spot to plant, hours of weeding the flowers within the garden outside their cabin. Calloused from the hundreds of trees he climbed to check on the wild hives. Calloused enough to resist the stinger of any bee, but gentle enough to not even need that extra protection. 

The callouses remained, but the gentleness was gone. 

“I’m sorry Phil.” the hand moved away. “I had to do it.” 

Phil opened his eyes, “...do what-” 

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about!” Tubbo snapped. “Ok? Just-just stop it! Just- you can’t talk anyhow now so just shut up! Just shut up and listen to me!” 

Tubbo gripped the base of a horn in one hand, glaring through tear streaked eyes at Phil. 

“Techno is a threat!” he hissed. “We gave him everything anyone could ever want and he betrayed us, Phil! He betrayed L’Manberg!” 

_ He doesn’t want what you think he wants. _ Phil wanted to say.  _ You can’t just use him like a weapon. _

“I thought you at least would understand, what with Wilbur dead from the explosion the Withers caused!” Tubbo rubbed his eyes viciously. 

_...It wasn’t the Withers… _ Phil bit back his own tears as he turned away. Why hadn’t he told him? Why hadn’t he told Tubbo? Told Tommy? 

_ So fucking stupid! _ He felt his throat tighten. 

“But no!” Tubbo continued his rant. “No you-you just had to take sides with the favourite didn’t you!” 

_ Favourite?! _

The word stung like a knife. 

It was true. He had spent far more time with Techno than any of the other boys. Not out of favouritism, but out of necessity. The man had struggled with so much-

_ But they did too! _

Gods he wanted to scream! He had been so stupid to think that they would just immediately understand the situation! 

He had been so gods damn stupid to leave them! And now he was paying for it. 

“You’re never there, Phil!” Tubbo sobbed. “You’re never fucking there! Where the hell were you?! Why are you never here when we need you?! When I need you?! When Tommy needs you?!” 

“Everything’s gone to shit and you’re just out there wandering wherever the wind takes you with no fucking regard for the rest of us!” the boy dropped to his knees. “Why did you come back now?! It’s too late now, why the fuck did you come back?!” 

Phil desperately wanted to take the boy in his arms. He wanted to hold him, hug him, apologise for every little mistake he ever made. He’d messed up, he knew he’d messed up, countless times. And now his sons were paying the price for his mistakes. 

_ I’m so sorry! _

Sorry would never cut it. He knew that. 

It didn’t change the regret that gnawed within his chest, far deeper and more festering than the arrow wound would ever be. 


	5. But the Wild is the Wild, and motherhood is motherhood, at all times fiercely protective whether in the Wild or out of it. ― Jack London, White Fang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno knows something is wrong, but for now he's glad that Tommy is just alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: dubious medical practice, please don't try anything mentioned here. Also there's stitching, it's not too detailed but if you're queasy you may want to skip this chapter.  
> Implied child abuse

“Fuck!” 

Techno paused his cleaning of Tommy’s wounds. “Wuss.” 

“It fuckin hurts!” the boy winced. 

“They’re not that deep, quit your whining!” Techno pressed a damp cloth over the wound. 

“I’m gonna fuckin kill you you shit head!” Tommy whimpered. “Bastard!” 

“Oh wow. The racoon is threatening me. Who would have guessed.” Techno continued to wipe away the blood and dirt from Tommy’s back. 

The two had arrived back at the cabin long after the sun had sent. A harsh wind had nearly buried them under a layer of snow, if it weren’t for Carl’s steady pace and innate knowledge of where ‘home’ was, they could have easily been buried. 

Now Tommy lay prone on the kitchen table as Techno cleaned out the five, deep gashes across his back. 

Techno had lied about them being shallow. They would need sutures. 

_ Tommy won’t like that… _

_ Ouch… _

_ Pain… _

_ Cuts… _

_ Techno hurt… _

_ Tommy hurt… _

_ Hurt… _

He’d need to fix his own sutures, he noted. The gash across his chest had been reopened during the fight. 

The front of his tunic was beginning to seep red. 

At least he wasn’t dizzy, yet. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Techno twitched his ears. 

“Excuse me?” he wasn’t entirely sure he had heard Tommy correctly, if that had been Tommy at all. 

“You want me to fuckin say it again?!” the boy snapped. “Fine! I’m SORRY! There! I said it! Bastard.” 

“...what for?” Techno was confused. 

“Gods you’re fucking impossible!” Tommy hissed. “You want me to spell it out for you?! I’m sorry for-for…” 

He trailed off, beginning to shake. 

“Earlier…” he explained. “When you-I-I’m sorry I-I didn’t think it would bother you like that I-I’m sorry.” 

_ Oh… _ Techno set down his suture thread beside his brother as he fought back the memory that threatened to resurface. 

“I didn’t-I mean…” Tommy buried his face into arms, folded on the table beneath him. “I know you have-you’re not...Phil told me…” 

“My brain is a bit different.” Techno stated flatly. “I know.” 

He threaded the needle within his fingertips, his hands still horrendously numb from his injuries, before gently pressing together the broken skin of his brother’s back with his free hand. 

“Got something to bite onto?” he asked. 

“...the fuck you mean?” Tommy muttered. 

“Gotta stitch your back up, it’s gonna hurt.” Techno placed the needle against the end of the cut. “Unless you don’t care?” 

“Psh!” Tommy huffed, resting his chin on his arms. “Just a fucking needle.” 

“Suit yourself.” Techno shrugged. 

The next few minutes passed by in relative silence. Aside from the occasional whimper or whispered swear, Tommy remained fairly quiet. Techno was almost impressed. 

“You want any more tea?” he asked, tying off the final stitch. “Or you want to just get some spare clothes and head out again?” 

Tommy winced as he shakily sat up, slowly setting his feet back on the floor. For a minute he seemed to steel himself, before attempting to take a hesitant step. Immediately he hissed as the movement jarred his wounds. 

“I...If you don’t-don’t mind,” he tried to bite back his tears. “I think I’ll take that tea. Please.” 

“Kettle’s by the stove, just put it on.” Techno sat himself down on the table, wiping his hands clean of blood before he gingerly began to remove his tunic. 

“...oh fuck bro…” he twitched his ear as he heard Tommy from across the room. 

The boy was staring at the mess of wounds across his torso. The massive abrasion that cut across his eye. The jigsaw of broken skin and bruises and distorted bone on his shoulder. The still bleeding gash that sliced across his chest. The deep, almost blackened puncture wounds on his side and breastbone. The new shallow cuts and scrapes from the fight earlier. 

“Holy shit.” Tommy’s eyes were wide. “They really did try to kill you.” 

“Tried.” Techno grinned wickedly. “Key word there.” 

“How the fuck did you not die?!” Tommy seemed to have forgotten about making the tea. “I mean, holy fuck, just look at you!” 

_ How did I indeed… _ Techno wondered to himself. Sure, the totem had saved him from the impact to his skull and subsequent shattering of his bones. But it was little more than dumb luck that Quackity hadn’t killed him in the tunnels. 

He’d been exhausted, wracked with pain, blinded. Even someone as experienced as he shouldn’t have made it out alive. If Quackity had been more experienced, or even just plain lucky…

“Luck.” he decided on. He still didn’t feel right telling Tommy too much about the details. Not just yet. 

“Bullshit.” Tommy went to cross his arms, only to cringe as the movement tugged his wounds. 

“You’re right, it is bullshit.” Techno took a clean cloth and began to dab the blood away from the wound. “You ever heard of a Totem of Undying?” 

“Few times, yeah, why?” Tommy returned to his initial task of putting the kettle onto the stove. 

“Got lucky, had one on hand.” Techno began to pick out the broken sutures from the wound. 

He saw Tommy frown. 

“You’re hiding something from me, aren’t you.” the boy muttered. 

“Few things.” Techno nodded. 

“Typical.” the boy stared at the kettle, slowly growing to a boil. “No one tells me anything anymore.” 

There it was again, that prickling sensation at the back of Techno’s neck. 

“Not Phil, not Wilbur, not you,” Tommy mumbled. “Not my friends, no-no they’re not friends, I don’t have friends, well I have one, is he my friend though? Surely he is, I mean, he was the only one who showed up, he has to be my friend...I think.” 

Techno winced as he misjudged a stitch, causing Tommy to jump. 

“Who’s this ‘friend’ of yours, kid?” 

“Oh-oh no one really,” Tommy took the kettle off the stove and began to rummage through the pantry for the tea bags. “No no, he’s not no one, I mean, ok maybe...no no no it’s fine! It’s fine! It’s no one to be concerned about OH! I found the tea bags!” 

He held a tin out of the doors of the pantry, grinning. A pair of rounded ears and a fluffy, striped tail flickered briefly on his form in Techno’s mind. 

_ Rodent boy… _

_ Racooninnit… _

_ Racoon boy… _

_ Skitter skitter… _

_ Steal food… _

_ Thief… _

_ Tommy is a thief… _

_ Liar…. _

_ Tommy is a thief… _

_ Chase him…. _

_ Tea is nice… _

_ Tea for Tommy… _

“You’re such a racoon.” Techno unrolled a fresh strip of linen before cinching it tightly about his chest, wincing from the pressure it put on his wounds. 

“Oi that’s rich coming from a pig in a crown!” Tommy huffed, dumping a spoonful of dried tea into the kettle. 

“Ouch.” Techno grinned. “Is this some jab at my hair? Or my teeth?” 

“All of you, you fucking boar man!” Tommy returned the grin. “You’re such a whiplash to look at! Like holy shit! You got some fucking weird ass pointy ears and claws and I don’t know what the hell is up with your fucking teeth but my god you can’t just mash that together with pretty pink haired elf boy!” 

“Sorry my looks get more women than you.” Techno stood, scraping the bloodied rags off the table. 

“Oi fuck off!” Tommy poured out a mug of tea for himself. “...I get plenty of girls.” 

“Sure you do, Mr. ‘How to Sex’.” Techno joined him. 

“That book is a fucking work of art!” Tommy nearly spat out his tea. “Do you have any idea how much gods damn research I put into it?!” 

“What like, five minutes?” The pink haired man poured himself some tea, barely able to hide the wry smile that crossed his face. 

“Maybe for you it would be.” Tommy countered. 

Techno almost spat out the sip he had taken, pressing a hand to his mouth to smother his laughter, wincing as the movement dug into his wounds. He didn’t care at this point. 

Gods he’d missed having a brother. 

The rest of the evening was spent throwing jabs at one another, nearly breaking their stitches from laughter as the wind outside picked up into a blizzard. Eventually, a fire was lit in the hearth and the two were sprawled on the floor beside it, aching from laughter and the terrible jokes passed between them. It had been far too long, Techno realised, since he’d laughed this much. It had been far too long since he had felt a part of his family. 

It scared him. 

_ You’ll never fix it… _

_ Fucked it up… _

_ Failure… _

_ Failure… _

_ Left them… _

_ Abandoned… _

_ They abandoned you… _

_ Betrayed you… _

_ Traitors… _

_ Traitors… _

He’d have to tell his brother about Tubbo eventually. He knew he would. But not now. Gods not now! At least, just this once, he just wanted to feel like he was part of something again. Something whole. Something unbroken. 

“I know Phil came up here with you.” His thoughts were interrupted at Tommy’s statement. 

“How is the old man?” the boy asked. 

Techno sighed. He could tell him about that at least. 

“Under house arrest.” he said finally, staring up at the ceiling.

“Well…” to his surprise he heard the boy chuckle. “That’s gonna drive everyone mad.” 

“Oh?” 

“Come on man,” Tommy laughed. “Phil? Tied down to one place? Not in a million years!” 

“Fuckin wandering vagrant that one.” he huffed. 

“Hmm.” Techno closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the hearth wash over his aching skin. 

“And you?” he asked. “Still thinking about leaving?” 

He sensed Tommy shift uncertainly. 

“I’m not gonna force you to stay,” Techno explained once more. “You can still go whenever you want.” 

The fire popped as a log fell. 

“If, that’s what you want.” Techno added. 

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The fire crackled in the hearth, the warm air lulling their minds. For a moment he thought the boy had drifted off. 

“If-I mean, if you’re cool with it…” Tommy stammered. “I mean I don’t want to be intrusive or anything-” 

Techno sat up. “Do you want to stay, yes or no?” 

“Yes!” Tommy finally blurted out. “I...I want to stay. Just for a bit at least, I mean-” 

“Oh shut up.” Techno gave his brother a light punch. “Bed’s upstairs, go to sleep.” 

Tommy shuffled to his feet. “You sure you don’t want-” 

“Bed.” Techno pointed at the stairs. “Now.” 

Tommy shook his head as he made his way to the stairs, “Gods you sound like Phil.” 

Techno snorted. “Good. At least one of us does.” 

“Fuck off.” Tommy muttered sleepily as he made his way up the stairs. 

Techno stayed up far into the night, long after Tommy’s snores had quieted, long after the blizzard outside had finally died down and the faint light of dawn drifted across the biome. 

He couldn’t sleep. His mind refused to quiet. The voices chattered incessantly, repeating his worries about the boy, about Phil, about himself. Pacing did nothing. Tea could only do so much. His rhymes were no longer effective. The pain of his wounds ate at him.

He took a lock of his hair and stuck it on his mouth, chewing the ends of it. 

_ Shut up! _

_ Bitch boy… _

_ Failure… _

_ Philza… _

_ Phil… _

_ Tommy… _

_ Liars… _

_ Liar… _

_ Traitor… _

_ They’re going to kill you… _

_ Traitor… _

_ Shut up! _

“Shut up!” he hissed, finally sitting down on the window sill, pressing his bare back against the cold glass in hopes the sensation would distract him from the voices. 

_ Miss them… _

They continued.

_ Traitor… _

_ Wilbur betrayed you… _

_ Wilbur… _

_ Wilbur… _

“Wilbur…” something tugged at his memory. A melody, the strumming of a guitar. 

_ Are you going… _

_ Going… _

_ Sage…. _

_ Grave…. _

_ Time… _

He found his hands tapping out a pattern from the back of his memory before flicking upwards, grabbing at his ears. He ran his fingers across the multitude of piercings that hung from the points, his thumb and forefinger stopping over a familiar gem. He carefully pried it from his ear, holding it up to his good eye. 

A glittery emerald flickered in its makeshift setting in the dying light of the fire. 

The song finally returned to him. 

_ Tell her to make me a cambric shirt… _

“In the deep forest green…” he responded quietly. 

_ There's never a rose grows fairer with time… _ the voice of Wilbur echoed through his mind. 

“ Tracing of sparrow on snow-crested ground…” 

_ Without no seams nor needle work…  _ A new voice joined the song. New, but familiar. 

“Bedclothes the child of the mountain…” images of a woman’s face flashed before his eyes. 

_ Then she'll be a true love of mine… _ the voice of the woman and Wilbur joined. 

“Sleeps unaware of the clarion call…” Techno trailed off, slumping back against the window as sleep finally took him. The emerald clattered to the ground, catching the faint pink glow of dawn that streamed in through the window. 


	6. But there were other forces at work in the cub, the greatest of which was growth...In the end, one day, fear and obedience were swept away by the rush of life, and the cub straddled and sprawled toward the entrance. ― Jack London, White Fang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Philza and his sons explore the ruins of a once great land.  
> A pink haired boy creates a name for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: implied child abuse 
> 
> But this chapter is mostly just cute family fluff

Many Years Ago

“Not too far Wilbur!” Phil called out. 

He felt Warren’s hand grip the sleeve of his coat, startled, at the noise. 

“Sorry mate.” he smiled reassuringly at the boy. 

Warren made no response. 

“I’m not going  _ that _ far!” he saw Wilbur up ahead, rolling his eyes. 

“Ok, just be careful!” Phil patted Warren’s head. “There’s a lot of loose rubble around here!”

It had been two years since he found the boys. Well, his sons, he supposed. He didn’t really know what else to call them after all this time. 

They were probably around six now, if he guessed correctly. If Wilbur hadn’t been joking about when their birthday was. 

It hadn’t been an easy two years, having to care for two more mouths to feed, let alone himself. Wilbur had yet to grow out of his impulsive nature, one minute he would be calmly singing to his brother and then the next he was taking off into the woods, only to be found later by Phil after receiving a harsh knock on the head from a tree branch. Luckily, the boy seemed to have taken an interest in music, which Phil used to his advantage. While he didn’t understand much about the subject himself, he enjoyed reading the books on theory and ballads of the days long past to the boy. Even if most of it had yet to make any sense to Wilbur, he soaked in the information with an eager thirst. 

His constant attempts to read, and even write his own music, occupied enough of his time for Phil to work with Warren. 

The boy was struggling. 

While Phil had managed to work out a system with him, on nights when the voices were too loud or the visions plagued his mind, it was still no less exhausting for the both of them. Nights were one thing, days were another. Certain sounds, flashes of lights, the way Phil moved even, and Warren’s eyes would go dull and lifeless as he curled in on himself, unmoving. Or he would snap, flailing his arms about in an attempt to scratch and bite at whatever had triggered him, only to break into sobs and anxious mumbles the second he had broken out of wherever his mind had gone. 

Phil wasn’t sure which hurt more, seeing his son unable to fight back against whatever was plaguing his mind, or seeing him break. 

What hurt the most was the way the boy flinched at the sound of his own name. Phil had taken to just calling him “kid” or “mate”, thankfully Wilbur had seemed to catch on and just referred to his twin as “bro”. Still, the occasional slip of the tongue, an introduction gone wrong, and Warren was staring at the ground, glassy eyed and gone to the world. 

“Gonna pick you up for this one, ok bud?” Phil dropped down a small ledge within the ruin, holding out his hands to the boy above him. Warren nodded and took his hands, letting the man hoist him down the rocky ledge before settling him back by his side. Immediately the boy grabbed hold of the edge of Phil’s coat once more, crumpling it within in his hands as he stared at the folds. 

Phil had hoped a change of scenery for the boys would do them some good. Instead of the meandering dusty road and occasional village they stopped at or the densely layered forests, he had decided to make camp that day in one of the massive ruins they had often passed by. 

The place was scattered with what must have been massive structures of concrete and cement, crumbling against the rusted bones of rebar and I-beams that poked out from once proud structures, now veined with vines and crawling with weeds. Phil loved ruins like this. So much potential, so many places to explore, so much history buried beneath the rubble, waiting to be rediscovered. He loved finding an un-touched room, full of books of the past and technology he couldn’t possibly understand. He loved being able to piece together the puzzle that was the past, before the world had become what it was today. Before the plagues and wars, before the downfall of the noble houses, before the new creatures that roamed the lands. It was in his blood to travel, to learn, to catalogue. 

He hoped the boys weren’t tired by now of the wandering. 

“Hey Phil!” Wilbur came running up the crumbling asphalt street, a large stick in hand. “There’s a big storage thing down there! I saw a lot of books in the windows! It’s got a sign that says ‘music’ on it!” 

“Great find Wil!” Phil gave him a thumbs up. “Are the windows still intact? We might be able to get some decent books out of it for trade.” 

“Looks like it.” the boy grinned, waving the stick as he scampered on ahead, pointing out the now obvious sign outside the storefront. 

Phil followed, keeping a wing tucked around Warren. The boy’s ears had perked up slightly at the prospect of books. It was actually rather cute, Phil thought, one of his ears had finally straightened outwards to a full point with age, while the other remained flopped by the side of his head. 

“What do you think mate?” he placed an arm across Warren’s shoulder. “Want to see if there’s any books there for ya?” 

The boy nodded, still gripping tightly to Phil’s coat, continuing to crumple the cloth within his hand, though his eyes stared blankly ahead towards his brother, now hopping impatiently by one of the store windows. 

“Out of the way Wil,” Phil took the stick from Wilbur’s hand. “Don’t want to get any glass on you.” 

“Cover your ears bud.” he gave Warren a smile. The boy quickly clapped his hands over his ears and scrunched his eyes shut before Phil gave the window a hefty  _ thwack _ with the stick. It took another three tries before the window finally shattered. 

“You good there mate?” Phil asked Warren once the debris had settled. 

The boy slowly pried his hands from his ears, opening his eyes. The red irises landed on Phil and softened slightly as the boy nodded. 

“...m...okay…” he said quietly. 

Phil sighed in relief. That was always a good sign. 

After hoisting the two boys into the store, careful to avoid the broken glass, the next couple hours or so were spent by the three piling up books and items of interest as they searched through the ruin. 

They’d have to be mindful about what they could keep when they’d finally leave, Phil could only carry so much on his person and neither of the boys were capable of lifting anything too heavy just yet. Still, for the few days they were staying here, there wasn’t any harm in reading through the pile of books they had gathered. 

“I found batteries!” Wilbur held a hand up from under a dust covered desk. “They zapped me when I licked them so they gotta still be good!” 

“Wilbur!” Phil tried not to laugh. “Don’t go licking batteries you found! You don’t know what’s on them!” 

“Can we see if the disc players still work?” Wilbur clambered out from under the desk, holding the batteries out to Phil. “There’s a lot of discs on the shelves, I think some are guitar! Please Phil? Please?” 

“Of course mate!” Phil took the batteries, inspecting them. “We got plenty of time, you know which disc players these batteries will work with?” 

“Mm!” the boy nodded and clambered back over the piles of books and discs before returning with two players, one in each hand. “I read the things on the back, those batteries go these ones!” 

After ensuring the disc players were free of dust, Phil snapped the batteries into the ports and gave the nobs a little twist. The display on the readers lit up green and a series of words flashed across the tiny screen.

\- READER EMPTY PLEASE SELECT DISC-

“Well?” Phil popped the top of the reader open. “You got anything in mind?” 

He felt a light nudge against his arm. Warren was tapping an empty, cracked disc holder on the man’s sleeve. 

“Sorry bud,” Phil took the empty container. “I don’t think this one made it-” 

Warren made an assertive sound and shook his head, pointing at the faded label of the container. Phil inspected it, confused at what the boy meant. 

The artwork was yellowed with age, but the details of a sword piercing through a crown was still visible. The title of the disc at the top had been torn away, but the word -TECHNO- remained. 

“Hm,” Phil shuffled his wings together. “I’m not sure what Techno is-” 

“Tech...no…” Warren’s voice was hardly more than a whisper from his lack of speaking. 

The response shocked Phil. 

“Techno…” the boy pointed at the sword. “...Blade…” 

“I-I...I like it…” he smiled up at Phil, his red eyes glittering with an emotion the man thought he’d never see on his son. Happiness. 

“I’m...Technoblade...now…” the smile became a toothy grin as his eyes crinkled up with delight. 

“My name!” the boy giggled. “That’s my name!” 

Phil felt a knot forming in his throat as he forced himself to hold back his tears of pride. 

His boy was smiling! He was laughing! 

“Technoblade huh?” he heard Wilbur from across the room. “That’s a long one, can I call you Techno?” 

Warre- Techno, flapped his hands excitedly. “You said it! You said it!” 

“I think that’s a lovely name.” Phil smiled. He held his hands out, hoping Techno would go in for a hug. Gods he was so proud of him. 

Techno shook his head and Phil instead gave him a fist-bump, as was the compromise they had managed to agree upon some time ago in lieu of hugs. 

As the day wore on, slowly growing dark, the boys continued to loot through the old music store. Asking Phil to play the various discs they had managed to find. Some were recordings of acoustic music, which Wilbur seemed particularly fond of, some were songs. All were thoroughly enjoyed by the wide eyed boys, entranced by whatever magic spell the disc players seemed to have cast on them. 

As the coming sunset began to cast long, reddish shadows through the window, Phil began to set up camp for the night within the store. He laid out the usual fare of breads and dried berries for the boys to busy themselves with as he brewed up a kettle of tea on the tiny camper stove he had found some days back on a previous excursion. It was far easier to work with than having to light a fire, Phil had found. 

He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, stirring together a mixture of herbs for the tea as the boys busied themselves with a guitar Wilbur had found, plucking at the out of tune strings with an occasional giggle. 

_ Technoblade. _ Phil smiled to himself, pouring out a mug of tea for each of them, adding extra honey for the boys. 

It was an odd name, but odd names weren’t uncommon. He had passed through communities with children who had named themselves before, often picking words that either held some form of meaning to them or just sounded neat. Many an orphaned child often named themselves these days. 

He’d tried that himself even, adding a -za to the end of his own name when his parents had passed. The boys still called him Phil, though. 

He took a sip of the tea as Techno finally made his way back to his usual spot, at Phil’s side, his hand crumpling up the edge of his coat as he rested his head against his arm. 

It was a bit of a silly name, but Phil was just glad the boy had finally claimed something for himself, something to call himself that had no painful memories attached to it. 

“Hey Phil!” Wilbur shuffled over to the two, guitar in hand. “I was reading some of the-some of the books and I found something really cool!” 

He sat down before the two and began to pluck a familiar tune from the guitar. 

Techno’s ears shot up and for a minute Phil worried the boy had been startled by the tune, except there was a happy grin on his face. 

“Momma…” he said softly. “Momma...used to sing…” 

The two boys, one with a wispy and flat voice, the other with a skilled and tuneful one, began to sing in unison. 

_ Are you going to Scarborough Fair _

_ Yesterday holds memories in time _

_ Remember me to one who lives there _

_ She once was a true love of mine _

Phil drifted to sleep to the out of tune guitar and the voices of his sons, a smile on his face. 


	7. This was a god indeed, a love-god, a warm and radiant god, in whose light White Fang's nature expanded as a flower expands under the sun. ― Jack London, White Fang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno is woken by a grumpy racoon boy. Chaos ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mentions of blood, Techno forgot to wash the sheets from the time he passed out from his injuries in them (see previous instalment for context) hence the blood and subsequent joking.

“What the fuck?!” 

Techno shot awake, nearly falling off the window sill, wincing in pain as he bolted upstairs where he had heard the screams. 

“Tommy!” He flung the door to his room open, clawed hands at the ready, only to see the boy glaring at him from the far side of the room, pointing at the bed. 

“There’s fucking blood all over the bed you bitch!” the boy snapped. “You couldn’t have told me earlier? Like oh I dunno, fucking yesterday?! What? Are you on your fuckin period or something?!” 

Techno blinked. 

The voices cackled.

_ Hahahaha!!!!! _

_ Forgot the bed… _

_ Racoon boy mad… _

_ Poor Tommy… _

_ Slept in blood… _

_ Didn’t change the sheets… _

_ Going to... _

_ Bloody sheets… _

_ E! _

_ Period lol! _

_ E! _

“Yes.” Techno grinned mischievously.

“Wait what?” Tommy glanced at him, confused. 

“Get with the program Tommy.” The man sighed. “We’re both covered in blood, does it really matter?” 

Tommy stammered, dumbfounded. “Yes it fucking matters you son of a bitch! I slept in your blood! All fucking night!” 

“Congratulations!” Techno patted the boy’s shoulder. “You’ve been christened. Welcome to the cult. Bath’s downstairs. Clean up. Get dressed. We’re going out in an hour.” 

He began to pry the offending sheets off the mattress while Tommy continued to stammer, baffled. 

“The hell is with you?!” the boy finally stormed off downstairs. “...bitch boy…”

It was good to have him back. 

He spent the remainder of the morning cleaning his wounds and replacing the bandages where they needed. He couldn’t do much about the hunger gnawing at his stomach -gods when did he last eat anything?- the stores in his pantry and cellar were too low, having not had the time yet to restock at all. Aside from the leftover dried meat sticks Tommy had left out from last night. He settled on chewing on one of the sticks and sipping some tea to hold him over as he dressed. He’d need to get new clothes, he noted to himself. At least two of his tunics had been ruined with blood. Why did he always insist on wearing white anyhow? 

_ Fancy boy… _

_ Nice colour… _

_ Shows the blood better… _

_ E… _

_ Pretty hair… _

_ Hair looks nice with white… _

He smiled. That was nice of the voices. 

He’d have to get Tommy some clothes too, the boy wasn’t nearly tall enough to fit most of his spares. Besides, the poor kid looked like he needed new clothes anyhow, he frowned as he scooped up the tattered remains of his brother’s discarded clothes outside the washroom. 

“Your pants are broken.” He knocked on the door. “Want me to mend them for you? At least until we get you some new ones?” 

“Nah it’s all good!” he heard the boy shuffling behind the door. “I found some in your closet.” 

Techno froze, a horrid thought coming to mind. 

“Which ones?” he asked. 

Silence. 

“Tommy!” he slapped the door with the tattered pants. “Tommy which pants did you take?” 

“The blue ones.” the door opened. 

Tommy stood there, in blue leather trousers, hanging ridiculously loose about his legs. 

If it weren’t for the fact they had been so expensive, Techno would’ve found the sight hilarious. As it was, he felt a piece of him die inside at the thought of his brother wearing them, let alone just touching them. 

“Bro give me back my pants.” He held a hand out. 

“No.” Tommy crossed his arms. 

“Give me back my pants!” Techno dropped the pile of laundry, tackling the boy to the ground. “Tommy you idiot! These things cost a fortune!” 

“No! Fuck you!” the boy flailed about, kicking pathetically as Techno wrestled the pants away from him, wincing as the movements jarred his wounds. “Ow! Shit! What the fuck Techno?! You bitch! They’re just pants!” 

“Go get the canvas ones!” Techno carefully folded up the blue pants, holding them out of Tommy’s reach as he released the boy. “I can’t have you wrecking these!” 

“You conceited bastard!” Tommy hissed. “What is it with you wearing fancy ass expensive shit anyhow? You say you hate government and then dress like a bourgeoisie pig!” 

“Just cause I’m an anarchist doesn’t mean I can't look good!” Techno countered, following the boy back upstairs to ensure he didn’t take anything else he didn’t want touched. 

Tommy huffed as the man returned the pants to their home before digging out a new pair, one far less ostentatious. And far less expensive. 

“The hell is with you?” Tommy shrugged on the offered clothes. “You live out in the middle of nowhere but dress like a fucking prince?! Fuck’s up with that?” 

“I mean, you’re not wrong.” Techno buckled a knife to his thigh. 

Tommy was silent for a moment. 

“What?” 

Techno grinned but said nothing further on the matter, tossing a cloak and old boots to Tommy. 

“We need to get some more food supplies.” he began to list, ignoring the stammered remarks of confusion from his brother. “And some clothes for you, I’m not letting you wear just anything you find in my house, you’d look stupid.” 

“You’re not gonna fucking address that bomb you just dropped on me?!” Tommy fumed. 

“Oh and some more sugar cubes for Carl,” Techno made his way downstairs, continuing to ignore the smaller boy raging behind him. “Have to check the bees too, hopefully the blizzard wasn’t too harsh on them.”

He paused as he reached the bottom step, finishing off the list in his mind. Something was still missing though. 

_Jewellery_ _ … _

_ Shinies… _

_Jewellery_ _ … _

_ Glitter… _

_ Jewels… _

What about jewels though, he wondered? 

And then it hit him. 

_ Shit where the fuck is the emerald?! _


	8. But to him, in appearance and action and impulse, still clung the Wild. ― Jack London, White Fang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philza does NOT want help.  
> Philza will bite.  
> Philza is feral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: graphic description of injury, implied trauma 
> 
> (So I once rescued this crow from my dog as a child and the darn thing was just so mad at me even though I was trying to help it and it bit me and wouldn't stop screaming at me. So I channeled that crow's vibes into Philza for this. The crow's legacy lives on in a fan fic of a feral bird man. Also, witch Philza needs more love. Just saying.)

Phil sat on the side of his bed, his thumb and forefinger lightly grazing the emerald in his left ear as he woke from his trance.

Techno had gifted the earring to him along with the compass. The same compass that had nearly killed him…

It had been two days since Tubbo had vented at him. The boy was no longer speaking to him the few times he did come by his house. 

It hurt.

_ At least Techno and Tommy are safe. _ He told himself. 

Tommy had looked terrible though. Techno was no better. It hurt him to see his sons in pain, but they were alive. If there was anything he could console himself with, it was the fact the two were alive. 

And in well enough spirits to be joking around too. 

He smiled weakly, it was good to see them laughing again. 

He missed that. 

The golden sunlight of the afternoon streamed in through the slats of the window, warming his back and wings pleasantly. It had been an ordeal to even manage to sit up with his wound, he had been left exhausted from the efforts, but he had managed. 

He’d worried, that with how long he’d been lying on his back, his wings would begin to show the negative effects of prolonged pressure. Luckily, for now it seemed that aside from the feathers still in desperate need of preening, they were otherwise alright.

He hoped. 

The weren’t numb at the very least, and they didn’t ache either. But that could have just been from his mind focusing on the pain in his chest rather than anything else, he told himself. After all, he could no longer register the soreness in his broken wrist, or the bruised skin beneath the shackle on his ankle. 

He gave his wings a light flex, only to immediately feel the pain in his chest stab through to his core as the flight muscles pulled against the wound. 

He cried out in agony as white flashed across his vision before he collapsed on his side in the bed, his good arm clawing at the wound as he fought to steady his breath. 

If this was what he felt like with only a crossbow bolt, he could only imagine how Techno must have felt from whatever had stabbed his chest.

He lay on his side for some time, each breath sending a new stab of pain through his body. He barely noticed the door open to his room. 

It wasn’t until he felt a clawed hand tentatively touch his shoulder that he even registered the other presence beside him. 

“Phil?” 

Fundy’s face was steely but his amber eyes hid little of his concern. 

Fundy was the second person Phil didn’t want to see. Especially now. 

If he could smack the boy he would have. As it was, he could barely even manage to glare at him from between his pained breaths. 

“I heard a scream, I just-” The fox hybrid’s ears flattened with concern. “I just wanted to make sure you’re ok.”

Phil bared his teeth. If he could have, he’d have flared his wings in warning. He didn’t want the boy here. Not Fundy. Not the boy who had tried to kill his son. Not his grandson who had turned his back on him. 

He wasn’t sure what felt worse, the sensation of betrayal that burned in his throat at the sight of his grandson, or the aching pain of Tubbo’s venting. 

“....get...your hands...off me…” he hissed. 

He felt the hybrid immediately retract his touch. 

“Sorry,” the boy mumbled. “I just thought-” 

“You...thought wrong…” Phil gasped as another wave of pain shot through him and he fell limp, unable to fight the throbbing ache in his chest anymore. 

“Well,” he heard Fundy’s voice drop in tone. “I don’t care.” 

“I don’t care what you think of me,” the hybrid continue with a cold voice. “You’re getting my help whether you want it or not. I’ve already lost my dad, I’m not losing you too!” 

The words dug like a knife within Phil. 

He hated this. 

He turned his face away from the door as he saw Fundy leave the room, his padded footsteps remained within house however, no doubt looking for something to ease the man’s pain with. 

He didn’t understand the boy. He understood the betrayal he must have felt towards Wilbur, certainly towards Techno. But to kill his own uncle? And then try to make amends with Phil? What was he playing at? 

Then again, Wilbur had moved out from under Phil’s wings shortly after Fundy had been born. He’d settled down with his wife to raise his son while Phil had continued wandering with Techno. Aside from a few letters now and then, he didn’t know much about the boy. For that matter, it was possible Fundy didn’t know much about him. 

_ He’s confused. _ He told himself. Confused, lost, hurt… The boy had only recently lost his father, the only guidance he had in this world, and that father had lost his own mind in the end. Perhaps, the boy was still looking for someone. Some form of guidance. Some form of love. 

Phil supposed the boy would be looking for anything at this point, anything that would ease the pain he must surely feel. 

He shakily attempted to sit back up. Pity or no, his own feelings were valid, and the boy  _ had _ tried to kill his son. Perhaps their relationship could be mended, but it certainly wasn’t going to be for a long, long time. 

For as patient as he could be, spite was not an unknown emotion to Phil. 

When Fundy returned with a tray of tea and soup, Phil could only glower in irritation. 

The boy sat the tray beside the bed. 

His own ears lowered at Phil’s stare of contempt. 

“Look gramps,” Fundy huffed. “I get it, you’re pissed. But I don’t give a flying fuck.” 

He held out the mug of tea. Phil could smell lavender drifting up from it...had Tubbo dropped that off?

“I’m gonna be the bigger man about this and actually try to fix things.” the fox hissed. “Unlike you, I’m actually gonna stick around when my family needs help.” 

Phil hissed. 

“Alright either drink the damn tea yourself or I’m tying you to the bed and spoon feeding you!” Fundy snapped, tail bristling. 

Phil begrudgingly took the tea. He had some pride to maintain after all. 

He continued to glare at the boy over the rim of the mug as he sipped cautiously at the tea. It...actually was quite good. It wasn’t too sweet, or bitter either. There was the faint hint of lemon and honey amidst the floral lavender. He wondered where Fundy had learned his herbs from, Wilbur perhaps? He had always had a knack for potion making, it was possible some of that influenced his tea brewing as well. 

“Tubbo brought by some dried lavender.” Fundy muttered as he took a seat beside the bed. “Said you might like it.” 

So Tubbo  _ had _ given him some, Phil felt his heart ache. Gods he wanted so much to talk more to his son, but there wasn’t much he could do about that now. 

“Soup’s a bit bland, you didn’t have much in your pantry for me to work with, shit ton of crystals though.” Fundy took his tail in his hands and lightly stroked the end of it, absentmindedly. “Seriously do you  _ only _ eat berries and herbs? What are you some kind of witch?” 

“...yes!” Phil hissed. 

Fundy blinked. “Oh…” 

“Well,” the fox hybrid continued to stroke his tail. “That’s uh, that’s cool. Didn’t know that.” 

Phil almost chuckled. Almost. He wasn’t going to, not yet. 

“Think you can teach me some spells sometime? Maybe?” the boy’s amber eyes seemed to soften. 

Phil hissed again in response. A resounding NO. 

Fundy’s ears drooped. 

“Um…” the boy scratched awkwardly at his nose. “How’s your wound?” 

Phil raised a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Look I know you had the Blood Fever, no one reaches your age without getting it.” Fundy frowned. “I just want to make sure you’re not at risk for infection and you’re healing correctly.” 

The boy stood, holding a hand out. “Can I at least have a look at the wound?” 

Phil flinched inwardly at the mention of the disease that had nearly claimed him all those years ago. He understood the boy’s concern, Blood Fever always left the host weaker and at a higher risk for future infections. Still, it was just another reason to be frustrated at his situation. He wasn’t weak, hell he was stronger than most average humans with his hybrid blood. But he wasn’t as strong as he used to be. He hated that. 

He hated having to rely on others when he was so used to only needing himself. He especially hated having to rely on his captors. No matter how kind they seemed to be. 

He’d have to trust Fundy though, he knew that. While he could heal himself with enough rest and herbs and rituals, there was still a risk that things could go very wrong, very fast. 

Phil sighed, setting the mug down on the bedside table, before carefully shrugging open his tunic, allowing the boy to inspect his injury. 

Fundy carefully undid the bandage, flinching at Phil’s occasional hiss of pain from the movements, before finally exposing the wound. 

The puncture itself was small and sutured, scabbed over from healing. The muscle and skin surrounding it however, were a deep blueish purple, almost black from the amount of internal bleeding he had suffered. It would take some time to heal, even with potions, Phil noted. At least it didn’t look infected. 

“We drained the fluid build up in your lung while you were out.” Fundy explained, gently re-wrapping the bandages about Phil’s chest. 

“It actually looks ok ish, there’s no infection and the seal is holding.” he glanced up at Phil. “You haven’t been coughing up blood or any pink foam have you?” 

“..no…” Phil responded quietly, his voice was still horribly weak. 

Fundy nodded, “That’s good.” 

“Is there anything you need me to do for you around the house?” the boy asked. “I can cook, I can do some cleaning, I can help with potion making, if you want I can get you some herbs and such.” 

“Just can’t, well, let you out you know.” he added awkwardly.

Phil tied the top lace of his tunic together once more, eyeing the boy with suspicion. It was a nice enough offer, but he didn’t trust the boy just yet to be going through his things. Last time that happened…

“I could, maybe…” Fundy seemed cautious. “Do you want me to help with your wings?” 

Phil was tempted, very tempted, to dump the remainder of the tea over the boy’s head for that remark. Checking on his wound was one thing, actually  _ touching _ his wings was another. 

They were his freedom. His soul. When the main flight feathers had been snapped in the interrogations some days ago, he’d felt as if a piece of him had been silenced. Sure he was used to walking, it was far more efficient in saving energy, but flying. That freedom that could only be experienced with his wings. He would die before he had that taken away from him again. 

Still, it wasn’t as though he could care for them himself at the moment. He could barely even move them earlier, what if it only grew worse? He worried. 

What if they atrophied? What if the feathers stopped growing in from having lain on them for so long? What if he couldn’t remove any blood feathers and bled out or got an infection? What if that infection forced him to lose-

He didn’t want to think about that. 

He sighed, gods he hated this. 

“I’ve had a few pet birds before,” Fundy tried to assure him. “I’ve had to preen them now and then. I know what I’m doing.” 

_ I’m not a bird! _ Phil cringed.  _ Dumb boy! _

“...fine…” he relented, slowly lowering his wings for the boy. “...but...if you...hurt them…” 

“I won’t!” Fundy stood, holding his hands up in a sign of peace. “I promise!” 

“...I’ll...fucking bite...you…” Phil hissed. 

“Understood.” 

Phil expected to feel rough, clawed hands against his back and wings, picking confusedly through his feathers. 

He didn’t expect to feel the soft touches of delicate fingertips, gently fluttering between his pinions. Maybe the boy did know a thing or two about birds? 

He felt himself relax, if only a little, for the first time in days as his broken feathers were removed and his quills smoothed. It was nice, actually, like having one’s hair brushed by a parent after a stressful day. Or maybe that was just a him thing. 

Phil sighed, closing his eyes as he let the boy continue to comb through the black feathers, smoothing out the downy undersides and taking extra care to not jar any of the newer, sensitive pins that had begun to grow in.

“Told you I knew what I was doing.” he heard Fundy huff. 

“...I’ll...still...bite you...boy…” Phil hissed. 

“Love you too gramps.” 

Before he had even realised it, Phil had drifted off, leaning against the wall beside his bed as his grandson tended to his wings. 


	9. Thenceforth, in the nature of things, he would possess an abiding distrust of appearances.  He would have to learn the reality of a thing before he could put his faith into it. ― Jack London, White Fang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno threatens a child.  
> A young Philza is a BAMF.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: graphic description of fighting and injury, injury to a child
> 
> (Techno finally kicks the baby)

“What the shit?!” Tommy yelped, dodging out of the way of Carl’s mouth as the horse nipped at him. “I thought you said he was friendly!?” 

Techno laughed. “Oh yeah, really friendly, absolute love, just a total baby!” 

He grinned wickedly at Tommy. “To me anyhow.” 

“You could have told me that you bitch!” the boy grumbled. 

“Chargers are bred to be grumpy dicks, thought you knew that.” Techno tied Carl’s reins to a hitch. 

“How come he’s a total suck up to you then?” Tommy wrapped his cloak about him, shivering slightly. 

“Cause he’s _my_ horse, Tommy.” Techno gave the charger a pat on the neck. 

“Be nice.” he whispered. 

Carl snorted, shaking his head as a snowflake landed on his nose. 

The two had arrived at the local village just before noon, the sky was still a bright, arctic blue, littered with the occasional puff of cloud. The soft rays of warm sun threatened to scatter the remaining clouds however, as well as the piles of snow from last night’s blizzard. 

The village was taking full advantage of the sun, having set up stalls within the village square for trade while the day was still young. 

“So…” Tommy hung back behind Techno as the man led the two through the stalls. 

“So?” he asked. 

“How exactly are you paying for all the stuff you mentioned?” the boy asked. 

“Hm! How indeed.” Techno motioned for his brother to follow him to a stall, one with a series of posters splashed across its front. Depictions of monsters had been drawn onto the posters, with a small description of where they had been sighted and a price listed. 

Techno un-shouldered his satchel and gingerly hefted it up onto the stall’s table, careful not to jog his wounds. He gave his brother a sly grin before opening the satchel and dumping out the contents onto the table. 

A series of dismembered wither skeleton limbs and bones clattered across the wooden table with a hollow rattle. 

He heard Tommy make a sound that wasn’t quite a scream, but not quite a whimper either. If anything it sounded like a confused racoon chattering. 

_Racoon boy…_

_Racooninnit…_

_Skitter skitter rodent man…_

_Lol…_

_E…_

_Tommy scared…_

_Piss baby…_

The villager behind the table gave an unsurprised nod, Techno had been here many times after all, and proceeded to count out the bones, making a little mark on a ledger as they did. They then tallied the marks and procured a large bag from beneath the table, jingling with emeralds. Techno thanked the villager, pocketing the bag, before heading to the next stall. 

Tommy continued to stammer behind him. 

“Holy-what the fuck?!” the boy bolted in front of him, staring at the man in awe. “You-what?! What the hell have you been doing?!” 

“Murder mostly.” Techno shrugged. “What’s it look like?” 

“Those were wither skeletons!” Tommy pointed back at the stall. 

“And I’m Technoblade, the Blood God.” Techno grinned. 

“You-you did all that?” the boy was still so confused, baffled. 

“You really doubt me? After all you’ve seen me do?” Techno pulled a few emeralds out of the pouch. 

“I-well, not doubt I just…” his brother quickly scampered to keep up with him as they made their way to another stall. “Impressed I guess? You actually did all that in what, a couple weeks? Are you...what are you even?” 

“Want to get some boots that actually fit you?” Techno motioned towards the next stall. 

“Stop changing the subject!” Tommy snapped, though he did eye the clothes within the stall enviously. 

“Here.” Techno handed Tommy a handful of emeralds. “Pick some stuff out for yourself, I’ll get you the essentials.” 

The boy stared at him, dumbfounded. “Re-really?” 

Techno blinked. “Uh, yes?” 

He gave his brother a light shove towards the stall. “Go grab some cool shit for yourself! Before I change my mind and make you only wear my clothes.” 

The boy still seemed confused, cautious even, as he began to do as he was told. 

Techno studied him out of the corner of his eye as he picked out a few things for the boy, that prickling at the back of his neck was there again. He watched as Tommy would go to touch an item, hold it up, inspect it longingly, and then shake his head and return it, despite it being well within the price range he had been given. 

Something was wrong. 

The Tommy he knew wouldn’t hesitate to snatch up, steal even, anything that happened to look even remotely interesting to him. 

What had happened? 

Techno would have to find out. Gently, though, he told himself. If something was indeed wrong, he didn’t want to hurt the boy by accident any further. 

By the end of their excursion, he noted that the boy had bought nothing. 

“Try these on.” Techno handed Tommy a pair boots as they stopped by a bench. “They should be your size, waterproof too so you won’t freeze your ass off in the snow.” 

The boy took them, tentatively, before trying them on. Techno could swear he noticed tears begin to form at the corner of his brother’s eyes, only to be quickly wiped away as he stood, giving the boots a test walk. 

“They’re great.” Tommy said quietly. “I can-I can keep them right?” 

“I mean I did just give them to you.” Techno shrugged the satchel full of the day’s procured items over his shoulder. “Did you get anything for yourself?” 

“Oh!...oh…” Tommy’s eyes grew distant as his shoulders lumped forward, his arms tucking his cloak tighter about himself. “No..no I-I didn’t...do you want the emeralds back?” 

“Nah, keep em.” Techno lightly put an arm around the boy’s shoulders, the prickling sensation returning as he noticed the boy flinch at his touch momentarily. 

_Tommy…_

_Tommy hurt…_

_Someone hurt Tommy…_

_Baby…_

_Baby brother…_

_Who hurt you…_

_Who hurt Tommy…_

_Hurt them…_

_Make them pay…_

_Poor Tommy…_

_We love you Tommy…_

“I got some flour you know.” he tried to distract the boy from whatever he might have been feeling. “Want to try baking some stuff when we get back to the house?” 

“Pfft!” Tommy rolled his eyes, seemingly returning from whatever trance he had been in. “I don’t bake.” 

“If you’re living under my roof you’re learning to bake.” Techno gave his brother a light punch to the arm. “And you’ll learn to sew, so I don’t have to mend your fucking pants for you.” 

“Fuck off!” Tommy shoved at Techno, only to misstep as the older man dodged. 

With a yelp, the boy slipped, colliding into a cloaked villager-

Techno drew his sword as he heard a familiar, startled, _mrrup!_ from the cloaked figure. Immediately he grabbed his brother, pulling him back as he kicked the figure to the ground, pressing his boot into their chest as he knocked their hood off with his blade. 

A startled, piebald face met his own. 

Techno bared his teeth, digging the heel of his boot into Ranboo’s chest as he pressed the blade against the boy’s throat. 

“How the hell did you get here?!” he snarled. 

“Ranboo?” Techno flinched as he heard Tommy’s startled voice behind him. 

The piebald raised a wary hand. “Hi...Tommy…?” 

_Fuck._

__________________________

Many Years Ago 

_No! No no no no!!!!_ Phil’s heart raced as he dropped from the skies. 

The wind screamed past his ears, his hair whipping behind him as he tucked his wings against his back, locking his hands about his sword in preparation. Below, the green forest broke away into a series of rolling, golden hills. And rapidly approaching was his quarry. 

A pack of nearly thirty armed humans had surrounded his boys. 

He’d only been gone for ten minutes! Just ten minutes! Had they really been this close all that time?! 

With a warning scream he flared his wings open before he slammed into the ground, sending dust and feathers flying in the faces of the armed men. 

Blade bared, wings flared to their full length, he snarled as he stood over his sons. 

Wilbur lay unmoving on the ground, blood pooling from his head. Techno was hunched over him, a series of lacerations across his back. 

Rage boiled in the back of Phil’s throat at the sight of his boys. Their wounds! Gods their wounds! Who the hell would do that to a kid?! 

He glanced about. The men were all fairly young, his age, perhaps a bit older. None of them bore the marks of having survived the Blood Fever. All of them wore the tattered, tarnished symbols of a noble house across their armour. 

One of them stepped forward. 

“Are you the boy’s guardian?” the voice was hoarse. 

“What’s it look like to you?!” Phil hissed, raising his blade. “Get the fuck away from my kids!” 

The man stiffened, his armour clanking. “Sir, I’ll have to ask you to stand down-” 

“I will give you all one chance, just one!” Phil snapped, cutting them off. “You can try to explain yourself and I might show you mercy. But if you leave now, I’ll let you go. No questions asked, no following you, no plans of vengeance.” 

He sensed the men around him shift in anticipation. He knew they wouldn’t leave. 

The man before him cleared his throat. 

“The Angel of Death, Philza, you and your boys, after investigation, have been found guilty of theft and illicit travel without citizenship or proof of passport through our House’s lands.” the man took a step forward, drawing his own sword. “As per decree of the House Lord, you and your sons are to be put under arrest to stand trial. Any resistance will be met with force up to and including death.” 

Phil heard the hissing sounds of the surrounding men drawing their weapons. He had no choice now. 

He unbuckled his coat, tossing it over the boys. 

“Techno?” he said softly, smiling at the pink haired teen. “Don’t look at me.” 

Techno nodded and ducked his head under the coat. 

Phil unleashed. 

His blade was self taught but skilled nonetheless. Efficient and deadly. He flicked the sword across one man’s exposed throat, then another, and another. He hated it. He never enjoyed taking a life. But if it meant his sons would be safe, he would gladly burn the world. 

A sharp pain sliced across his back as he heard a loud cracking sound through the air. Phil shrieked, whirling on a heel as he caught the whip of his assailant as they struck once more. The whip curled up around his wrist and forearm as he latched onto it with clawed fingers, wrenching the attacker forward with their very weapon, impaling them with the force of the movement on his blade. 

He freed his arm of the lash and spun it about, letting the leather snap eagerly at the faces of the men surrounding him, forcing them back as he kept himself between them and the boys. 

With a flick of his wrist he dropped the whip, reaching for a potion bottle that hung about his waist. Before the pack had a chance to retaliate, he’d unstoppered the glass with his teeth and flung the liquid wide, smashing the glass against the helmet of a nearby attacker. The men howled as their armour and flesh began to melt from the acid, most of them beginning to retreat by now. 

Before Phil could make his next move, he felt something heavy suddenly coil up around his left wing. White flashed across his vision as his wing and shoulder erupted in pain, his breath left him as he was slammed hard into the ground. 

The next few seconds were a blur. He felt a heavy, booted heel repeatedly slamming into the socket of his injured his wing as hands tried to pin him to the ground. He tasted blood in his mouth as he bit down on someone’s wrist, snapping the bone and tearing the flesh as he rolled onto his back, slicing upwards with his sword and finally freeing himself. 

And then he was in the skies, then dropping, plunging the blade into the chest of the man he had bitten. And another. And another. 

How many were there again? 

He’d lost count. 

Eventually, there was only one left. 

One, stubborn, pathetic boy still holding his own against him. 

If things weren’t the way they were, if this was merely a sparring match between friends, Phil would have been impressed with the young man’s swordplay. As it was, he was only irritated at the boy’s stubbornness to not die. 

His own exhaustion was beginning to wear on him, his injured wing and back throbbed with each movement, he couldn’t take to the skies anymore. He was tiring. He tasted blood in his mouth. Blood in his nose. Blood dripping drown from his chin and onto his neck and staining his chest. 

His hand slipped and his blade was knocked from his grasp. The armoured man lunged, grazing his own blade across Phil’s shoulder as he slammed him back to the ground, raising the blade once more. 

Phil caught it with his hands before it pierced his chest. Ignoring the screaming pain in his fingers from grasping the blade, he tried to kick upwards at the man above him. The blade inched closer to him. 

The blade touched his shirt. 

The blade pierced his skin. 

The man suddenly gurgled, the blade fell to the side, and he collapsed beside Phil. 

Phil lay there, gasping, his hands burned. His wings ached. He wanted to cry. Standing before him, bloodied dagger in hand, was Techno. The teen’s eyes were glazed over, whirling red, his arms hanging limp at his sides. His head was tilted slightly, as though dazed. 

“Blood…” he mumbled. “Blood...Blood…Death...Blood...” 

Phil dragged himself to his feet, flinging his arms around the boy. 

“I told you not to look at me!” he stroked the shoulder length pink hair of his son. “I told you! I told you! Not to…” 

He pulled away, staring into Techno’s eyes. 

It was happening again, he realised. The boy was gone. Gone somewhere to the back of his mind as his body did what was necessary to survive, to kill. 

“Blood...Death…” Techno continued to mumble as he raised the dagger once more. 

“Techno!” Phil tried to catch the boy’s arm. 

Techno’s eyes seemed to flicker as his arm moved to slash at Phil, and as if he had gained some form of lucidity once more, he turned the blade away from the man. 

Phil screamed as the dagger slashed across his son’s chest. 

The boy’s legs buckled beneath him as he collapsed, Phil continued to scream as he caught him. 

“Gods!” he buried his face in the boy’s shoulder, feeling the faint rise and fall of his son’s breaths against his cheek. “Gods! Why?!” 

The day went by in a blur. A painful, teary, blur. 

Phil had carried his boys into the forest, hiding away from the slaughter behind them. He had treated their wounds before his own. Wilbur’s cracked skull. Techno’s multiple gashes. 

He wanted to cry alongside Wil when the boy had finally woken, too dizzy and nauseous to move, but he had to keep a calm face. For Wilbur. For his boys. 

“Hey mate.” he pressed a damp cloth to Wil’s forehead. “You took a nasty knock to the head there, don’t try to move, okay?” 

“Wh-where’s Techno?” the teen whimpered. “He-he was-he was trying to stop the-the guards.” 

“He’s okay.” Phil assured him. 

“No he’s not!” Wilbur began to sob. “He’s not! I heard him! He’s not okay! Phil! They hurt him!” 

“They hurt him Phil!” he grabbed Phil’s coat. “I shouldn’t have-I shouldn’t have taken the map! I shouldn’t have! The guards caught me! And Tech-Techno he-” 

“It’s okay mate!” Phil shushed him, stroking his hair. “It’s okay, they won’t be following us anymore, you’re okay. You’re okay. Techno’s okay.” 

_It’s my fault!_ He gently held Wilbur against him, letting the boy sob into his shoulder. _It’s my fucking fault you’re hurt!_

He shouldn’t have taken them past the border. He should have left them in the safety of the village until he returned. He shouldn’t have brought them into the Noble’s Territory. He was a wanted man here, hybrids like Techno would never be welcomed, why the fuck had he brought them along?! For some fucking maps?! 

Of course the second the boys were noticed they would be accused of stealing, whether they had or not. Of course they’d be chased. Of course he’d think he could lure their pursuers elsewhere, of course they wouldn’t have fallen for the bait. 

He had failed them. He’d failed them and now-

He heard Techno coughing and carefully set Wilbur down to tend to the other twin. 

“Phil?” the boy tried to raise his head. 

Phil gently pushed him back down. 

“Please don’t move Tech,” he shushed him. “How do you feel?” 

Techno whimpered, reaching his hand towards Wilbur. His twin slowly crawled to his side, taking the hand as he nuzzled in next to him. 

“The...the voices...Phil…” Techno grasped Wilbur’s hand as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“I’m...I’m sorry…” he cried. “They...they want blood...they wanted blood...I didn’t want to...I don’t want to hurt you…” 

Phil curled up around the boys, draping his good wing across them, blocking the world away in a soft cave of feathers and warmth. 

He held them close, consoling them as best he could, telling them things would be okay. That they would be okay. 

A week had passed before they were well enough to be on the road again. Wilbur was still dizzy, still wary of strangers that passed by. Techno had given his knife over to Phil, unable to trust himself. Their wounds were healing, Phil ensured they would. With the potions and herbs and rituals he cast he knew they would eventually heal. 

He knew he should be healing too. 

So why was his nose still bleeding?


	10. It was a placing of his destiny in another’s hands, a shifting of the responsibilities of existence.  This in itself was compensation, for it is always easier to lean upon another than to stand alone. ― Jack London, White Fang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno stumbles across a certain lost piebald.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Techno kicks the baby, implied gaslighting and abuse of a minor

“Oh you son of a bitch!” Techno had to grab Tommy before his brother could lunge at the piebald still pinned to the ground. 

“Tommy I-” Ranboo flinched in pain as Techno shoved his heel against the boy’s breastbone. 

“Both of you shut up!” Techno snarled, holding Tommy at bay with one hand, his sword still pressed against the piebald’s throat with the other. 

The voices were screaming again. 

_ Baby! _

_ Mistake! _

_ Kill the boy! _

_ Traitor! _

_ Run him through!  _

_ BLOOD! _

_ Make him pay! _

_ BLOOD! _

_ Hurt him! _

_ Hurt him! _

_ DEATH! _

“Shut up!” Techno snapped, turning towards where Ranboo lay pinned. 

“You got five seconds to explain yourself boy.” he twisted his heel deeper into the boy’s chest, the teen whimpered. “How the hell did you find me? This time?” 

“I wasn’t-” Ranboo’s clawed fingers pried at Techno’s boot. “I wasn’t looking for you!” 

“Bullshit.” Techno hissed, giving the boot a shove. 

“I wasn’t!” the boy gasped. “I was following Ghostbur! I couldn’t find Tommy so I was following Ghostbur! He said he knew where he was!” 

Techno lowered his blade. What did he mean he couldn’t find Tommy? 

“Tommy,” he turned to his brother. “You know this kid?” 

The boy nodded, a look of confusion on his face. Confusion, hurt, but happiness as well. 

“He was one of the only people who showed up regularly while I was in exile.” he explained. 

“But he never fucking showed when I sent out the invites to the gods damn party!” he snapped. Techno quickly shoved him back before the boy had a chance to swing a kick at Ranboo. 

“I keep telling you!” the piebald flinched. “I never got any invites! No one got any invites!” 

“What do you mean invites?” Techno asked, thoroughly confused. Invites to what? If Tommy was in exile, surely no one would be allowed to visit him. Hell, the few times he himself did many weeks ago he had kept it under wraps as best he could so as not to get the boy in trouble. 

“I didn’t invite you, pig!” Tommy hissed. 

“What invites?” Techno asked again. 

Tommy huffed, rubbing his eyes. “It was this whole thing, I tried to throw a party, I invited pretty much everyone-”

“Except me.” Techno interjected. 

“I didn’t trust you!” Tommy snapped. “I gave the invites out to Wilbur since he can go pretty much anywhere but then I hear from Phil and Ranboo that they didn’t get invites.” 

He glared back at the piebald. 

“Which is a fucking lie! I’m not crazy! I know I made I invites and I sent them all out to you!” His voice began to crack. “I’m not crazy! I know I did! None of you showed up though! You fucking dicks!” 

Techno glanced back at Ranboo, studying his face for any hint of deceit within his eyes. There was nothing. The red and green eyes were wide with fright and confusion sure, but there was nothing but honesty behind them. 

“I didn’t get anything Tommy!” the piebald insisted. “No one did-”

“Are you calling me a fucking liar?!” Tommy hissed before suddenly shrinking, his voice growing quiet. “Course you are, no one trusts me anymore...I don’t-I don’t know...I’m not lying right? I sent out the invites, Dream said I did, Dream said it was ok to-no no no no! I’m not crazy! I’m not crazy!” 

_ Dream! _

_ Dream is a liar! _

_ BLOOD! _

_ Hurt Tommy! _

_ Dream hurt Tommy! _

_ Dream lies! _

_ Hurt the baby! _

_ Tommy hurt!  _

_ Tommy hurt! _

_ Liar! _

_ Liar! _

_ Liar! _

“Ranboo,” Techno pressed the tip of his blade against the boy’s throat. “Did you bring anyone with you?” 

The teen shook his head, carefully. “No. It’s just me. And Ghostbur, somewhere.” 

A series of distressed chirps and gurgles came from his throat, like fearful hiccups. 

“If I find you were lying-” 

“I’m  _ mrrup _ not lying  _ hrry _ !” the teen insisted. His eyes were wide, glazed with fear. 

Truthful. 

Techno sheathed his blade, removing his boot from the boy’s chest. 

Ranboo curled up on his side, coughing for a long moment as he massaged the now sore spot on his sternum, still chirping in distress. 

“You  _ rrr _ you hit my pearl!” he whimpered. 

_ Ouch… _

_ E… _

_ Crush the pearl! _

_ Kick the mistake! _

_ Kill him! _

_ Don’t kill him… _

_ Baby… _

_ Ender pearl… _

_ Broken… _

_ E... _

Techno held his hand out to the boy. “That wasn’t my intent, I didn’t know your motives.” 

Ranboo eyed him cautiously, still chirping, but eventually took his hand. 

Techno helped him up -gods he kept forgetting how tall he was!- before giving a wave to the villagers who had crowded about at the commotion. 

"Everything’s fine." He signed. " Nothing to see here."

After a moment’s hesitation the crowd dispersed. They were used to Techno’s presence by now, he knew, if he told them there was nothing to be concerned with, they had no reason not to believe him. 

“How’s your pearl?” he asked. 

Ranboo gingerly rubbed a space in the centre of his chest, chirping pitifully. 

“It’s not cracked.” he curled his tail around his legs. “ _ Hrr _ Hurts though.” 

“I’ll crack that thing myself you lying bastard!” Tommy snarled. 

Techno held a hand up to the boy. 

“That’s enough, Tommy.” he lowered his voice. “I think there’s been a massive misunderstanding here. Why don’t we get something warm to drink and try to sort this out, alright?” 

_ Someplace neutral. _ He told himself. He wasn’t about to show Ranboo where he lived. But he certainly didn’t want to bring Tommy to anyplace that he’d feel unsafe either. He settled on the tavern in the village, the place was guarded by an iron golem, if Ranboo  _ was _ going to betray them then he’d have  _ that _ to deal with. 

After settling at a table with a tea for himself, warm milk for the boys, much to Tommy’s dismay, he finally addressed them. 

“Now, Tommy, don’t go interrupting.” he warned his brother. “I want both of your stories, as clear as possible. Alright?” 

“Something doesn’t feel right about what I’m hearing from either of you.” he took a sip of the tea. “So either one of you is lying-”

“Why the fuck would-”

“Or,” Techno silenced Tommy. “There’s something bigger going on here that neither of you realise.” 

“Ranboo?” he asked the piebald. “What’s your story?” 

The teen fiddled nervously with the mug before him, tail twitching as he tried to stifle a spasm of chirps. Finally he began. 

“I met Tommy before his exile,” he explained. “He saved me during our trial and took the blame for something we both did, as a result he got exiled from L’Manberg.” 

“Dream threatened the city unless he was kicked out.” he took a sip from the mug. “And then he got taken to an island in the middle of nowhere and I felt bad, so I snuck out to visit him now and then. Make sure he was okay and such.” 

“I’d heard him mention planning something for awhile,” he glanced nervously at Tommy. “Said he’d gotten permission to invite people over for a day. That day came and went and I was never invited, nor anyone else for that matter.” 

To Techno’s amazement, Tommy merely buried his face in his mug, chugging angrily instead of interrupting. 

“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.” Ranboo finished his tale. “Or, more likely, Dream changed his mind and decided it wasn’t allowed.” 

“Dream wouldn’t do that.” Tommy wiped a moustache of milk from his face. 

“Tommy?” Techno raised an eyebrow. His mind was churning, slowly piecing together what must have happened. 

“I hand wrote them! All of them!” Tommy grumbled. “I sent Wilbur out to deliver them. The day came. No one showed up except Dream. The end.” 

He gulped down the rest of his mug’s contents and slammed it down onto the table. 

“Unlike the rest of you,” he glared into the now empty mug. “Dream actually cares. Dream was my only friend through all of that. Dream...Dream actually showed up.” 

“I-I would have come if you’d asked.” Ranboo fiddled with the end of his tail. “I owe you, you saved my life back then in the trial.” 

“So, you only wanted to be friends cause you felt indebted to me.” Tommy hissed. 

Ranboo flinched. “That’s not true.” 

“So you think that Dream’s your only real friend then, huh?” Techno asked. The prickling feeling at the back of his neck returned as he saw Tommy shrink into his cloak. 

“Of course-of course he’s my friend...I mean he cares about me…” Tommy began to mumble. “He didn’t let me jump in the lava-he saved me...he showed up when no one else did...he let me keep my stuff some days...I mean he did blow them up usually but some days he let me keep my stuff-he let me keep my compass...Tubbo never showed up though...I mean I’d have shown up if it were Tubbo…” 

Techno noticed Ranboo staring in pained confusion at Tommy, before glancing back at him. 

“I don’t-he keeps talking about Dream like this.” he said quietly. “Every time I was there, I’m- I can’t tell what’s going on with them.” 

_ Dream is a liar… _

_ Liar… _

_ Liar… _

_ Hurt Tommy… _

_ Liar… _

_ Lied to Tommy… _

_ Isolation… _

_ Control Tommy… _

_ Hurt the baby… _

_ Hurt him… _

_ Hurt him.. _

_ Hurt him… _

“Tommy,” Techno set his mug down. “Have you ever thought that maybe Dream just wanted you to be easily controlled?” 

The boy chuckled nervously. “Wha-what makes you say that? Dream’s my friend, he wouldn’t...would he?” 

“Well,” Techno folded his hands together. “Let’s look at this way, shall we?” 

“If you were to deal with someone who’d been a thorn in your side for months, someone who constantly questioned your rule, constantly rallied people against you, and you finally had the chance to get back at them,” he explained. “Wouldn’t you want to break them? Isolate them? Convince them their friends were their enemies? Make them question their own reality?” 

The voices seethed at that last comment. 

Techno hissed inwardly as well. 

“Wouldn’t that be just the most poetic form of vengeance?” he said softly. “Breaking your enemy into believing you are their only friend? Forcing the only one who defied you into only trusting you? Can’t you see the irony?” 

He felt his hackles raise as he realised what Dream had done to his brother. He gripped his hands tightly together, his claws digging into his own skin. It took every ounce of his fortitude to control the rising bloodlust within him. 

How dare Dream! 

How DARE he!

He knew full well what it was like to question his own reality at every waking moment, to not know if what he saw was real, not know if the voices were being spoken or just part of his head, not know if his family were truly there. 

How DARE Dream force Tommy into a life like that?! To question his own friends? His allegiances? His very reality! 

“I don’t-I don’t…” Tommy stared blankly ahead. “I don’t think….I….” 

“I want to go home.” He whimpered. “Phil I want to go home.” 

The boy curled up on the seat beside Ranboo, burying himself into the folds of his cloak, and began to sob. 


	11. A wolf does not think like a human. ― Jack London, White Fang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philza begins to plot his escape.  
> Fundy has no idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: reference to trauma

Phil took a tentative stretch of his wings. He hissed, the movement still hurt, but less so now. 

His healing spells had been working well. 

It had been two days since he had allowed Fundy to help him with his wings and since then the fox hybrid had been visiting nearly every hour. Phil wasn’t sure if it was out of genuine concern for his wellbeing, or some way to keep an eye on him. 

He was well aware of Fundy’s role in the downfall of Schlatt. It was entirely possible this friendliness of his was all a front. 

Phil knew he’d need to be incredibly careful in how he went about planning his escape. 

“How are they?” the young man asked, eyeing Phil’s wings. 

“...better…” he nodded from his spot by the window as he sunned his black feathers. “...still...hurts...but better...today…” 

He’d been well enough to leave his room, finally, and was taking full advantage of the winter sunlight that fell through the window. He gingerly flexed his wings, sighing in contentment as they soaked up the healing warmth of the rays. 

“Would you like me to help out around the house?” he heard Fundy ask. 

An idea cropped into his head. 

“...if you...don’t mind…” his voice was still weak, his chest still ached with each breath but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been. “I have...some potions...I’d like to..work on..” 

The boy’s ears perked up. Phil had to hide his smile as he saw Fundy desperately trying to stifle his tail from wagging happily. 

“I can help with that.” Fundy cleared his throat. “What do you need?” 

Phil gave him a list. The usual of willow bark and various herbs already dried in the pantry, but with the addition of chalk and candles. 

Phil set about drawing a circle across the floorboards in the chalk for his workspace, placing the candles at various intervals around himself before taking the gathered herbs and placing them in a bowl of water. 

Fundy watched in awe, his tail flipping back and forth behind him. 

“So, what are you making?” he asked. “I’ve only ever made potions the normal sciency way, never seen it done by a witch before.”

“...healing…” Phil dipped a finger into the water and then ran it across the edges of the bowl, creating a faint chime as a the water began to dance from the vibration. The herbs blossomed within the vessel, then swirled together and sank, releasing a bright pink colour into the water. The scent of vanilla and apples flooded the air. 

“Whoah…” the boy was enraptured by the transformation. 

Phil felt a twinge of guilt. Those amber eyes were so much like Wilbur’s, so full of curiosity and light. It felt wrong to deceive him like this. 

It wasn’t just the healing potion he was making. 

The chalk circle and candles were for another purpose entirely. The slight clinking of metal around his ankle informed him the spell was working. The shackle was being worn down. 

Phil carefully bottled up the potion before handing it to Fundy, his hands shaky. The strain of performing two rituals at once beginning to wear on him. 

Not that Fundy would know…

“...put this...in tea…” he asked. “...please?” 

The rest of the afternoon he spent sunning himself by the window, sipping at the tea Fundy had made for him with the potion, restoring his energy as the young man told him about the events of the day between sweeping the house and organising. 

“Quackity’s still unconscious.” the boy explained. “We’re not sure what happened, we found him in the tunnels after the ambush with his jaw broken and his eye missing.” 

Phil shuddered. 

_I’m sorry Techno._

“Puffy says he’ll probably wake up in a few days, but...I don’t look forward to his mood when he does.” The hybrid cringed. “You know Puffy right?” 

Phil shook his head. He hadn’t been able to keep tabs on everyone within the city, try as he might. 

“She’s...got some interesting ideas.” Fundy continued to ramble. “She seemed pretty neutral about Schlatt but she’s been digging around in some of the nearby ruins a lot recently. She’s got a stash of books about health and the dead and necromancy and some shit. It’s a bit weird.” 

“She’s also been talking about this egg?” Fundy shook his head. “Ant and Bad won’t shut up about this stupid egg they found, I’m honestly not sure if they’re joking or not.” 

“...Tubbo?” Phil asked. 

Fundy stiffened. “He’s...he’s been spending a lot of time with the bees.” 

Phil raised an eyebrow. 

Fundy glanced about nervously before lowering his voice. 

“He’s really upset, Phil.” the hybrid’s tail fluffed slightly. “He’s been...gods I dunno, he keeps acting his usual self one minute and then the next-” 

To Phil’s surprise, Fundy hissed, his ears flattening angrily. 

“He made- he joked about Wilbur.” the boy rubbed a tear from his eye. “You’d think- you’d think he wouldn’t bring that up, abut him being dead, but no!” 

“You don’t just- that’s my dad Phil!” he took a breath. “I know Tubbo’s my uncle but sometimes it’s like he’s just my stupid little brother I- that hurt, Phil. That fuckin hurt!” 

Phil hadn’t even registered that he had made his way towards the hybrid. 

He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, giving him a light pat. 

To his surprise, the boy leaned his head against Phil’s side. 

“I know.” Fundy muttered. “You’ll bite me. It’s just…” 

The boy sighed, leaning further into Phil’s arms. 

“I miss my dad.” 

Phil patted the boy’s back reassuringly, gods he was so much like Wilbur! 

_I miss him too._

“Heh.” Fundy chuckled. “Didn’t know you could be a softy, gramps.” 

“...fuck off…” Phil scowled, giving the boy a light smack before turning away. 

“Love you too old man.”

__________________

  
  


Techno paced outside the tavern, gradually forming a muddied circle where he had worn the snow away. His breath fogged up the air as he ran the end of his braid against his lips, letting the soft hair flow over them, repeating the motion as he continued his pacing, occasionally eliciting a confused look from a nearby villager. Or the large the golem that watched him dubiously from the tavern entrance. 

He ignored them all. 

He threaded the end of his braid around one of his tusks, looping the pink hair around the small fang, tugging at it as he tried to think. 

_ Tommy… _

_ Dream hurt Tommy… _

_ Ranboo friend… _

_ ENEMY… _

_ Hurt Dream… _

_ What about mistake… _

_ Mistakes… _

_ Tommy… _

_ Tommy wants Phil… _

_ Not Phil… _

_ You’re not Phil… _

_ Never be Phil… _

_ Never be a father… _

_ Never be a brother… _

_ Traitor… _

_ They betrayed you… _

_ You betrayed them.... _

_ Hurt you… _

_ Hurt them… _

_ ENEMIES…. _

_ Dream is the enemy… _

_ Owe him your life… _

_ Debts must be paid… _

_ Paid… _

_ MAKE THEM PAY…. _

Gods what was he supposed to do?! 

He didn’t know the full extent of Tommy’s abuse from Dream -he had to bite his hair to keep from snarling at the thought- but it was enough to warrant vengeance. Except he owed Dream now, owed him for saving his life. 

The snarl finally broke through. The golem gave him a warning glance, it’s rusted metal and cobbled together limbs creaked as it tilted its head towards him. 

Techno bit down harder, cringing as he broke the tips of his hair, that was going to be a pain later. Eventually he settled, though the voices did not. 

He glanced inside the tavern window. 

Tommy was eagerly wolfing down the meal he had purchased for the boy. Ranboo sat opposite him, picking at his food, his ears flicking much in the same way Techno’s did as he listened to Tommy’s ramblings between mouthfuls. 

At least the two seemed to have smoothed things out, Techno thought to himself. 

While he didn’t fully trust the piebald just yet with knowing the location of his base, hence why he had paid for the room at the tavern for the night, he at least wanted to ensure that Tommy had a friend. Family could only go so far when it came to opening up about certain subjects, Techno knew. There were some things about himself he’d never even told Phil...and Tommy desperately needed a friend right now. 

And...he was curious about Ranboo. 

If the boy was indeed his son, surely he should start to form some sort of connection with him, right? 

He reached up to his ear, thumbing the emerald that dangled from it, grateful he had found it earlier that day. 

He’d given one to Phil, he had three more, he’d been planning to give one to each of his brothers at some point...until Wilbur...well…

The emeralds were...he didn’t actually fully understand it himself. They were calming, somehow. A familiar voice would come to mind whenever he touched them, a soothing voice and a song, and a pair of ruby eyes and hair like his own. He’d feel safe. Warm. He’d feel as if he was held on all sides. Not by the rough, grabbing, painful hands of so many he’d encountered through the years; rather a gentle cradling. Not like Phil’s gentle hugs, similar but vastly different. 

He knew who the emeralds once belonged to, the crown he had carefully removed them from still remained locked within its vault he had built for it. The memories of the owner were vague. But he knew who she was. 

His mother was the one person besides Phil who he’d have trusted with his life. 

Perhaps…

He glanced back at Ranboo through the window. The piebald’s one, ruby red eye was unmistakable. Techno’s eyes. His mother’s eyes. It was ironic almost, that his other eye was the same shade of emerald green as the jewels that had adorned her crown. 

It was ironic the prince of a long dead kingdom had continued his heritage with what one would normally associate with a monster. 

Techno smirked. 

_ Monsters… _

_ Haha… _

_ Monsters… _

_ What is a monster.... _

_ True monsters… _

_ Monarchs and monsters… _

_ You’re a monster… _

_ Why a monster… _

_ Killed his wife… _

_ Killed his son… _

_ Kill the boy… _

_ Monster… _

“The real monster wasn’t the minotaur.” he muttered quietly to himself. 

He saw Ranboo laugh at some joke Tommy must have made. 

Should he tell the boy? He wondered. 

He could gain an ally, under the cover of L’Manberg’s walls, a new pair of eyes for the plan he was beginning. 

But, Ranboo was only a boy. Sure Tommy was as well, but Tommy had already been through the wars, led them even. Ranboo was still new to the city, still uninitiated to it’s inhabitants flaws. Still innocent to the predicament he had now placed himself into. 

Perhaps it was best to keep him innocent then? Let him decide for himself when the time came? 

_ How the hell did you manage it, Phil? _ Techno shook his head. 

He turned his gaze to Tommy. The boy hardly seemed to be same person he had been an

hour ago. His blue eyes glittered with his usual slyness, squinting as he smothered a laugh of some joke he had made. 

There was still a hollowness to him however, Techno noted. 

It was subtle, well rehearsed to be hidden. An occasional darting of his eyes, the way his 

hands would hug to his chest, the downward tilt of his head, the hunch in his back. The flinching of a light touch. 

_ Dream… _

_ Dream hurt him… _

_ Kill the ranger… _

_ Kill the bastard… _

_ Not Tommy… _

_ Hurt Tommy… _

_ Tommy hurt… _

_ You did this… _

_ Bad brother… _

_ Could’ve protected him… _

_ Coward… _

_ Owe Dream… _

_ Kill Dream… _

_ Debts… _

_ Eye for an eye… _

He couldn’t think. 

Not now. Not with the voices’s rattling within his mind. Not with his blood boiling. Not with his wounds, his exhaustion. He needed to sleep. 

He made his way back into the tavern. 

“Hey Techno!” Tommy waved him over. “What’s the worse word you know?” 

Techno stopped beside the table, raising an eyebrow. 

Ranboo groaned. “Tommy, you really need think of better conversation points.” 

The piebald rolled his eyes at Techno. “He’s been like this for ages now, he’s trying to get me to curse, it’s not happening.” 

“Cactus.” The older man said flatly, grinning at Ranboo. 

“What?” Tommy looked confused. 

“It sounds terrible.” Techno shrugged. “It’s just objectively a bad word. I hate it.” 

Ranboo returned the grin. “Yeah, that’s a pretty terrible word.” 

“You know the plural of cactus is actually cacti?” Tommy shoved a forkful of his food into his mouth. 

“Oh my god Tommy!” Techno laughed, hoping to keep the mood up. It was good to see his brother happy, though a part of him knew Tommy was merely rambling to keep his mind away from his memories. “You can’t just say a word like that!” 

At least this was a good distraction. For now. 

“Yeah Tommy!” Ranboo poked the boy’s side. “You can’t say bad words like that!” 

“I can say cactus whenever and wherever the fuck I damn well want!” Tommy spluttered with his mouth full of food. “Fine then! What about moon? What do you think of when you see the moon?” 

“....moon…” Techno drawled. “Just...moon. Moon’s cool.” 

“Really?” Ranboo’s tail twitched. “Just moon? Nothing else?” 

“What else is there?” the older man shrugged. “It’s chunk of rock floating through the sky, looks cool, that’s about it.” 

“Gods you’re boring.” Tommy shuffled through his cloak before his eyes suddenly lit up. He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a rather suspicious looking, dried, rabbit’s foot and flopped it onto the table. 

Ranboo chirped in confusion and disgust. “Is that a-” 

“It’s a foot!” Tommy held the still floppy appendage upwards into the light. “A lucky rabbit’s foot! Techno how much you think it would sell for?” 

“With how terribly preserved that is,” Techno shook his head. “I don’t think you can sell it-” 

He was cut off as Tommy, his eyes nearly manic, leapt up onto the table, waving the severed appendage. “Does anyone want a foot?” he shouted, turning more than a few heads of villagers, who stared at him with a mix of confusion and rising disgust upon seeing the flopping foot within his hand. 

“Oh good gods!” Ranboo grabbed his friend’s arms. “Tommy stop!” 

“Tommy!” Techno hoisted the boy off of the table. “I gotta keep a good image with these folks! Shut up!” 

His brother merely laughed, his eyes glazing over in tears as he slumped against the seat of the table. His laughter began to break. His head finally bowed as he dropped the rabbit foot, burying his face in his hands as he began to sob. 

Techno felt something like a knife within his chest at the sight of his little brother. Despite the boy’s attempts at stoppering the memories and emotions he must surely have been feeling, trying to bury them with jokes and conversation, they all came flooding in. 

Techno understood physical pain. It was merciless and cruel and had shaped most of his formative years. But while he experienced emotional pain, he didn’t understand it. 

He could only watch helplessly, unable to defend his brother from the pain he must surely be feeling, as he curled up into a ball on the chair, bawling. 


	12. It was the masterful and incommunicable wisdom of eternity laughing at the futility of life and the effort of life.  ― Jack London, White Fang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Philza suffers.  
> An older Philza suffers.  
> Being Philza is suffering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: graphic description of illness-coughing up blood, fever, pain, wishing for death- emotional trauma, implied PTSD

Many Years Ago 

Phil could already feel the fever beginning to spread. 

He suspected he had caught it two weeks ago, during the fight with the guardsmen. One of them must have had it. He had already gone through the headaches, the dizziness, the rawness of his mouth and nose, the bleeding of his sinuses that left him seeing spots and feeling shaky in his hands.

Now he was in the odd lull between symptoms as the fever migrated from his head and into his throat. It hurt to speak. Hurt to move. But his headaches were gone, the bleeding had finally stopped, the fever had begun to die down. It was as if he was healing finally. 

Phil knew better. 

His eyes weakly fluttered open, scanning the makeshift camp he had set up a week ago, before his symptoms had worsened to the point he could no longer move. 

He and the boys had set up for the week within one of the older ruins, a large building full strange boxes and fading patterns painted onto the walls. What this place must have been before the world had become what it was now, was a mystery to Phil. It seemed to have some sort of significance, judging by the sheer amount of money ledgers he had found previously, but as to what he had no idea. 

Not that it mattered now. 

His eyes landed on Techno, the boy was leaning against one of the colourful boxes, his hand rubbing against his jaw as he groaned in pain. 

He’d begun cutting in his tusks, Phil had noted, what else could they be? He was a piglin hybrid, his ears and hair colouring were more than a evidence of that. Of course he’d be cutting in his tusks now that he had reached thirteen. 

He looked almost as miserable as Phil. 

“How you holding up there Tech?” he asked, weakly trying to sit up. 

His arms trembled beneath him as his muscles ached from the movement. He gave up, returning to lie back on the pile of blankets once more. It hurt to move. 

“Face hurts.” Techno grumbled. 

“You and me both mate.” Phil loosened the collar of his tunic, wincing as he felt the heat of his fever burning from his skin. 

“At least you’ll get some cool tusks from this.” he tried to smile. “You’re gonna look pretty fierce once they’re grown in.” 

“Yeah...sure…” Techno mumbled as he continued to massage his sore jaw. “Another thing for people to be scared of.” 

That stung. 

“Techno, no.” Phil finally forced himself to sit up, despite the screaming of his aching limbs. 

“Come here prince,” he motioned for the boy to sit next to him, thanking the gods the fever wasn’t contagious for children. 

Techno shuffled to his side, leaning into Phil’s shoulder as the man wrapped his wing around his son. 

“Why do you think that people are scared of you?” 

The boy gently took hold of one of the looser feathers on Phil’s wing, running his fingers across the downy fluff. 

“I know they are.” he said quietly. “They hate me.” 

“What makes you think that?” Phil took the boy’s hair in his hands and began to comb it out with his fingers. 

“Are you blind or something?” Techno huffed. “They just do, I mean look at me!” 

He pulled away from Phil, glaring at him. 

“I’m a fucking freak!” Techno hissed, rubbing at his eyes. 

“And who told you that?” Phil crossed his arms. 

“I-the…” the boy sniffled. “The guards did.”

“The voices do too.” he wiped a streaky tear from his eyes. “All the time. It’s just...they’re so loud…” 

“Techno,” Phil took the boy’s hair once more, gently combing through it. “Would you ever go to those guards for advice?”  
“What?” the boy sniffed. “Hell no! Fucking dick heads!” 

“So then why do you believe anything they told you about yourself?” Phil began to plait the boy’s hair. 

Techno stiffened. “I...I guess it’s kinda dumb…” 

“It’s not dumb.” Phil shook his head. “Those words hurt, it’s not dumb to react when you’ve been hurt. Just know that those words aren’t true.” 

The boy sighed. “But, the voices-” 

“Would you take advice from them either?” Phil tied off the braid. “Do they ever say anything that isn’t just something they’ve heard elsewhere?” 

“...no…” Techno slumped, leaning back against Phil’s shoulder. 

“Would you take advice from me then, Tech?” he gently plucked a loose feather from his wing, handing it to the boy. 

“Why would I not?” Techno began to run the feather across his fingertips. 

“So then you’d believe what I told you?” Phil asked. 

“I...yes…” the boy said quietly. 

“Technoblade look at me.” 

The boy shuffled around, his ruby eyes meeting Phil’s own blue. 

Phil placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. 

“You are not a freak, Techno.” he stated firmly. “This world is full of unique and different people all with their own special beauty that can’t ever be replicated. No one is a freak.” 

“You’re strong, you’ve protected me and your brother countless times.” he listed. “You’re braver than anyone else I know, you’ve grown up with so much pain and you’ve managed to live through it and keep fighting.” 

“You’re a prince, Techno.” he smiled. “No matter what anyone else thinks, you’re my handsome, brave, and honourable little prince.” 

Techno wiped another tear from his eyes, struggling to keep from crying. 

“And some day, you’re gonna be quite the lady killer with those pretty features.” Phil gave Techno a light poke. “Or a man killer, or whatever else you’re into.” 

The boy smirked. “You don’t think they’ll be scared of my tusks?” 

“Nah,” Phil waved a hand. “If anything they’ll just be amazed at how ‘sharp’ you are.” 

Techno blinked, then cringed. “Oh my gods dad! Really?!” 

Phil laughed. 

“Shut up! That was cringe!” Techno squished the feather within his hand. “Cringe!” 

“What’s cringe?” Wilbur appeared from behind one of the boxes, holding a bucket full of ice. 

“Phil’s making dad jokes.” Techno scowled. “They’re terrible. He’s cringe.” 

“What’s that?” the boy pointed at the bucket. 

Wilbur held the ice up proudly. “I got that ice machine out back working again!” 

He sat down beside his brother, setting the bucket of ice before him and Phil. 

“Took awhile, I don’t think it’ll last long but,” he handed Techno a handful of ice cubes. “They can help a bit with your teeth.” 

Techno snapped up the ice into his mouth, groaning at the relief the chill offered to his sore jaw. 

“And it can probably help with the fever too.” Wilbur wrapped some of the cubes in a cloth, handing it to Phil. 

_Right…_

Phil pressed the cloth against his forehead, sighing as the ice began to cool his burning skin. 

He was going to have to tell them. 

But how though?

When his own parents had succumbed to the blood fever, they at least had given him some warning that they wouldn’t make it. They had told him there was a chance, a slim one, that it was possible to survive. 

And for him, the odds were slightly better. He was only twenty five now. Still fairly young. Not young enough to avoid his fate of catching it, that was inevitable for all adults at some point. But young enough to survive it. 

Maybe. 

But what if he got their hopes up? 

What if...he didn’t make it? And he left them feeling betrayed somehow? 

He lay back down, pressing the ice over his eyes. 

He hated this. 

He hated being uncertain. He hated being scared, for himself and his boys. 

He hated being helpless. 

“Phil?” 

He moved the cloth away from his eyes, Wilbur was staring at him with a look of confusion, and concern. 

“You’re feeling better, right?” the boy asked. 

“A little.” it wasn’t exactly a lie. He would feel better, for a time. Until the next symptoms took hold. 

“You think this fever will last much longer?” Wilbur took Phil’s hand, his eyes widening. “Holy shit you’re burning!” 

“I know.” Phil sighed. “I know.” 

“You’ll-you’ll get better though?” he felt Wilbur squeeze his hand. “Right? You’re gonna get better?” 

“Phil?” he heard Techno’s muffled voice, laced with a sudden fear. 

“Boys,” he didn’t know how to approach the subject that was now inevitable. “I don’t...I’ll be honest, I don’t know.” 

“But you’re doing better today!” Techno insisted. “You’re getting better!” 

“I know, but it’s going to get worse.” Phil tried to keep his voice from shaking. “That’s just what this fever does. You feel better for awhile, and then you get worse.” 

“Well, we’ll help you.” Wilbur insisted. “Tech is good at hunting, and I know herbs, and I found a bunch of medical books recently, and we got a really clean water source nearby and...we’ll help you ok?” 

Phil smiled. “I don’t doubt that.” 

“But, if something happens to me-” 

“It won’t!” Techno snapped. “It won’t! You’re gonna be fine!” 

“If,” Phil continued. “Something does happen,” 

He reached his other hand out to Techno. The boy flinched as he held it, no doubt feeling the burning heat from his skin. 

“I need you two to take care of each other, ok?” 

The boys nodded. 

“Promise me you’ll stay together?” he asked. “Promise me you’ll protect each other?” 

“Why wouldn’t we?” Wilbur sniffled. 

Techno only nodded once more. 

“I love you both, ok?” Phil smiled. “I’ll always be proud of you. No matter what happens to me, just know that, ok?” 

“Ok.” Wilbur squeezed his hand once more. 

Techno said nothing, letting go of Phil before curling up beside him, putting another handful of ice in his mouth. 

Phil knew he was crying. 

“Go make yourselves some tea you two.” he smiled at Wil. “I’m gonna do my best to kick this thing, ok?” 

Phil closed his eyes- gods he didn’t realise how tired he was!- and listened to the quiet footsteps of Wilbur, the soft breathing of Techno. The eventual strum of a familiar guitar and the tune the boys would sing when they were sad. 

He didn’t hear the words this time, his fever finally garbling the sounds within his head to the point he couldn’t make sense of much anymore. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he felt a sharp pain in his chest and woke to the violent agony of blood being coughed from his lungs. He didn’t know how long the fit lasted. He didn’t have his senses about him to know what had happened to his boys.

Time began to pass agonisingly slow. When he was awake, he was coughing. When he was asleep, he was burning. Blood was all he could taste. His vision was gone. He heard nothing but the loud ringing of his own, strangled cries of pain echoing within his ears. 

A few times he felt hands, cool and gentle, brushing his hair away from his sweat laden forehead. A few times he tasted water. Once he felt hands in his own. 

But mostly he felt pain. 

Pain his muscles, threatening to tear them to pieces if he so much as breathed wrong. 

Pain in his head, throbbing with fever. 

Pain in his chest as his lung burned with each desperate, agonised gasp. 

It was all pain. 

It was only pain.

He wanted to die. 

He wanted it to just end. 

He wanted to slip away into the coolness of endless rest and float in the waters of oblivion. 

He couldn’t do that though, somewhere, deep down, a piece him refused to let him fade. He couldn’t let himself die, not like this. His boys still needed him. 

He couldn’t leave them.

Instead, he lived. With fire in his lungs and coals in his throat, he lived. 

He finally woke, some two weeks later. 

His vision was blurry, his ears were still ringing. Everything still ached, but he was breathing clearly again. Painfully, but unobstructed. 

Phil weakly tried to rise, only collapsed back against his cot as his shaky limbs refused to respond. 

“Oh my gods Phil!” he felt Wilbur’s hands on his back. “Phil holy shit! Are you okay?! Are you back?! Please be okay! Please be okay!” 

Phil couldn’t respond, his voice was gone.

But he was alive! He was alive. His boys weren’t going to have to bury their father, like he had his own. He had manage to give them that mercy. 

He took Wilbur’s hand, smiling weakly in reassurance, before slipping back into unconsciousness. 

His sons were going to be okay.

__________________

“Goodmorning Phil!” 

Phil dropped his mug into the sink with a gasp, before clawing at his chest as his wound flared up in pain. 

“Oh! Sorry.” the familiar, weak voice apologised. 

Phil winced. “Morning...Wilbur.” 

He looked up at the face he couldn’t bear to see. Wilbur floated above the sink, smile permanently on his face, the remnants of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth the way it had when he had died. The wound in his chest still flowed across his yellow sweater. 

“I haven’t seen you in awhile.” Wilbur began to ramble. “Thought I’d stop by and say hello! Oh!” 

The shade floated upside down, pupil-less eyes somehow glittering. 

“You know Techno came back for a bit! But I think you saw that, he left though.” 

Phil gingerly straightened as the ghost continued to babble. 

“I wish he could have stayed longer though. I really wanted to have a little get together you know?” 

Phil shuddered as he felt the ghost put his arm around his shoulders, the bone chilling cold seeping through his skin. “Philza, Techno, Tubbo and Ghostbur! And then we can all go visit Tommy!” 

Phil stepped aside from the ghost, he couldn’t stand the freezing chill the spectre radiated. 

“It’ll just be like old times!” Wilbur floated down in front of him, upside down, smiling. 

Gods that smile hurt. 

“That would be nice but... I don’t think we’ll be able to do that ….for awhile.” Phil limped to the pantry. His voice was stronger now, he’d been able to walk for longer, but he still tired easily. His wound still hurt when he moved wrong. 

It still hurt now. 

He shouldn’t have jumped. 

He still wasn’t used to Wilbur. Well, his shade to be exact. 

Wilbur was dead, he told himself. Dead. This...Ghostbur wasn’t him. It was a collection of memories and emotions, innocent as a child, but it was not Wilbur. 

“Are you alright Phil?” the shade questioned. 

“No, Wi-Ghostbur.” Phil opened the pantry, gathering together a series of salts and various crystals. “I’m still not feeling well.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, should I go?” the ghost sounded genuinely disappointed. 

It hurt. 

Phil sighed. “You...you don’t have to, I’ll be okay.” 

He set the salts down on the kitchen table, selecting a few before adding them to a metal tin alongside the crystals. 

“Okay then.” the ghost drifted lazily above him. “What are you doing by the way?” 

“Working on a solution to the current problem I’m in.” Phil gave the tin a quick shake, the contents within began to hiss. 

“The house arrest?” the ghost tilted his head. “Why are you under house arrest by the way? You’re really nice, I don’t see why they’d keep you locked up.” 

Phil sighed. “Cause I wouldn’t tell the Butcher Party where Techno was.” 

“Why not?”the ghost tilted its head the other way. 

“Why not- because he’s my son! Wilbur!” Phil snapped. 

The ghost flinched and Phil immediately felt a twinge of guilt twisting in his gut. 

“I’m not Wilbur.” the ghost said sorrowfully. 

“I know, I know.” Phil rubbed hand across his face. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s ok!” the ghost smiled, again. “I know you’re not feeling well. Would you like some blue? Blue always makes me feel better- oh wait!” 

The shade floated about Phil, coiling around him as it inspected his clothes. He shuddered, flinching as the cold seeping through to his core. 

Phil coughed, quickly backing out of the vapour of the shade. 

“Wil, wha-”

“You’re wearing so much blue!” the shade giggled. “That’s so nice, blue is nice. You’re wearing Techno’s uniform!” 

“Ye...yes.” Phil turned back to his work. “I have a... matching set. Thought it would be nice to... show my support for him.” 

“I saw his uniform up at his house.” the ghost poked at the blue tunic. “It’s a very nice house.” 

“It is.” Phil gave the tin another little shake, the contents within began to fizz, growing warm to the touch. 

“So how did your support go?” the ghost asked. 

Phil sighed, pointing downwards to his shackled ankle. 

“...oh…” Ghostbur said quietly. 

“Yeah...not well...unfortunately.” Phil sat down on the floor, reaching into the tin and sprinkling out a bit of the now seared contents onto the metal surrounding his ankle. The shackle made a few weak, popping sounds as tiny cracks began to appear on the surface. The solution beginning to deteriorate the iron. 

It still wasn’t working fast enough.  
“Hey Phil?” 

“Yeah?” Phil brushed off the remaining dust from the shackle before sealing up the tin. The spell would only work once a day, he’d need to wait until tomorrow to continue with the degradation. 

“You’re trying to escape right?” 

“Yes.” Phil stood, proceeding to hide the tin within the top of the pantry. 

“And I trust…” he turned back to the ghost. “That you won’t...tell anyone.” 

“Course not!” Ghostbur smiled. “I’m just wondering, why didn’t you try this before Techno got out?”

“I was.” Phil’s wings sagged though his face remained unreadable. At least, he hoped it was unreadable. “I wasn’t fast enough...I tried, I just...just wasn’t fast enough.” 

He wished he’d been faster, gods he’d wished he could have helped Techno! If he’d been fast enough, if he’d been able to fight alongside him, he wouldn’t have been so hurt. Sure he was alive but that didn’t change the fact he’d been left in such a horrid state. 

He couldn’t let anything else happen to him. 

“And if... anyone finds out about this,” he gestured towards the shackle. “I’ll be fucked.” 

“Your secret’s safe with me Phil!” Ghostbur held a thumbs up. 

“Promise?” Phil held his hand out, hoping the ghost would keep his word. 

“I’m not Wilbur.” The ghost took his hand. “I’m not going to backstab anyone.” 

Phil flinched. From the cold that seeped through his gloves or from the ghost’s comment, he couldn’t quite tell. 

“Oh!” the ghost drifted back up to the ceiling, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. “I just remembered! Ranboo wants to go find Tommy!” 

“What?!” Phil clapped a hand over his mouth, hoping he hadn’t been loud enough to have been heard by any passers by. 

“What do you mean... Ranboo wants to find Tommy?” he asked, quieter this time. 

The last time the piebald had done anything regarding his sons, Techno had nearly been killed. 

“Ranboo’s his friend.” Ghostbur tugged at his sleeve until it covered his hand. “When we passed by Logsteshire when we found Techno, I saw it had been exploded, and I told Ranboo, and he got concerned, and he visited and couldn’t find Tommy.” 

Phil stiffened. He knew from his astral walks that Tommy was alive, but did the ghost? Did Ranboo? 

Hell, did Tubbo know?  
He himself hadn’t heard about the state of the island, the explosions were news, but how many thought Tommy was dead? For that matter, how many actually knew he was alive? Did anyone know he was in hiding? 

“What do you mean exploded?” he feigned. 

“Well the place was all blown up.” Ghostbur shrugged. “But last I looked I didn’t find any bodies, and I’m pretty sure Dream would have said something if Tommy had died.” 

The ghost’s eyes lit up once more. “I think he might be at Techno’s!” 

“What makes you think that?” Phil asked cautiously. 

“I mean they’re not too far away from each other, maybe a few days by boat.” Wilbur explained. “And if I was Tommy, I would want to go someplace I knew was safe! Mostly.” 

“So, Techno’s place!” he finished. 

“So you’re going to take Ranboo...back to Techno?” Phil narrowed his eyes.  
“Well not back to Techno, Ranboo never made it to his house.” Ghostbur drifted downwards onto the kitchen table, settling onto it as if he were sitting. “They found him out hunting, so not technically at his house, just on his land-”

“Ghostbur you can’t take him back there.” Phil glared at the shade. 

The ghost tilted his head. “Why not?” 

“Why not- Because Ranboo... was trying to kill him!” Phil snapped. “I don’t want him... anywhere near my son!” 

“Oh!” Ghostbur nodded. “Well, Ranboo did tell me he didn’t know how to feel about that whole thing. And he’s only looking for Tommy, I don’t think he’d try anything to Techno.” 

“Not that he could fight Techno anyway, I mean,” Ghostbur chuckled. “The man’s un-killable.” 

“Ghostbur,” Phil lowered his voice. “Do NOT... let that boy near my son!” 

“Alright, I won’t.” the shade held his hands up. “Just Tommy then? He’s really very concerned about him.” 

Phil clenched his fists, glaring at the shade. 

“I’ll take that as a no then?” Ghostbur shrugged. “Alright, I won’t take Ranboo.” 

“If I find you’re lying-” 

“Oh I don’t think, I don’t think threatening me really works now Philza.” The ghost’s tone was oddly not sarcastic, rather a neutral statement. 

“I mean if you stab me again I won’t die.” he grinned. “I think that’s pretty great! But also you can’t really get upset with me like this now can you?” 

Phil looked away. None of what the ghost was saying was in a tone of anger or smugness, it was entirely innocent. Statements that were merely factual. The intention was not meant to hurt. 

That didn’t change the fact that it did. 

“Why do you remember that.. of all things?” Phil tried to change the subject. 

“Of you killing me?” the words stung. 

“Yeah…” he tried to relax his hands. “Thought you only remembered... happy memories.”

“Well,” the ghost seemed to think for a long moment. “It was a happy memory.” 

“What?” Phil spun back towards the ghost, still perched on the table with his ever present grin. 

“Yeah!” Ghostbur clapped his hands together silently. “It was a really good memory!” 

“Wh-why?!” Phil felt as if a knife was beginning to twist within his chest. “Why would...why would that be good?!” 

“Because you finally put an end to Alivebur!” the ghost grinned. “And nobody liked him.”

Phil slowly slumped to the floor, closing his eyes. Wil- Ghostbur, for as happy and innocent as was, had a terrible way with words. 

“Phil?” 

He ignored the shade, burying his face in his hands. 

His heart hurt. 

“Phil? Why are you crying?” he felt the cold of the shade’s hand seep against his shoulder. “Did I mess up again?” 

“Please…” Phil whispered, shakily. “Please don’t talk to me right now.” 

There was long moment of silence between the two. Phil could hear his own heartbeat, his shaking breaths, the dead hollowness of the ghost beside him that seemed to absorb all sound surrounding him. 

The cold began to grow unbearable. 

Outside, he could hear the faint pattering of rain beginning to fall against the roof. 

He forced himself to keep his eyes shut, rubbing hard against the lids until he saw stars. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to remember. 

Despite the growing headache he was forcing on himself from palming at his eyes, he still saw the faint flash of steel. Still smelled the scent of panicked blood. Still felt the warmth of his son in his arms fade as his life left him. 

“I’m sorry.” He heard the hollow, raspy voice of the ghost beside him. 

He rubbed his eyes once more. _I’m sorry too._

“I know,” he finally said, opening his eyes. “I know Wil-Ghostbur.” 

“I don’t understand a lot of things.” the ghost was sitting beside him. “I know that. But, I don’t want to keep hurting people either.” 

“I just want what I couldn’t have.” he held out a dripping, blob of blue ink. “I just want to see everyone happy again.”

Phil tentatively took the ink. It spilled across his fingertips, the opposite of blood in colour but no less blemishing. 

“I should probably go, I think Friend is getting wet out there.” the ghost began to float toward the open window before he paused. 

“Oh…right, it’s raining.” he seemed to sigh. 

“Yeah...yeah don’t touch it.” Phil stood, still shaky. The blue ink spilling across his hand and wrist from his movements. 

To his surprise, the ghost gave him a mischievous grin, before sticking his hand out into the rain. Phil heard a small hissing sound as the water splashed through the shade’s vapour. 

“That was me touching the rain!” the ghost giggled. 

Phil almost laughed, from surprise, from the overwhelming emotions earlier, from fear, he didn’t know. 

“I told you not to touch it.” he said softly. 

The ghost continued to lean his hand out the window, smiling, the rain hissing as each drop collided with him. 

“I literally told you not to…” Phil walked to the window. “What are you doing?!”

The ghost ignored him, giggling in delight as steam rose from where the rain touched his form. 

“What are you- you’ll melt!” Phil reached for the ghost, attempting to pull him back inside, only for his hand to slip through the incorporeal form. 

Ghostbur continued to giggle.

“Wil!” Phil huffed as the ghost finally backed away from the window. “For gods’s sake! Stop that!”


	13. Life is always happy when it is expressing itself.― Jack London, White Fang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno gives Theseus a welcome gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: implied child abuse and gaslighting, referenced threatening of minor, emotional trauma

  
  


Techno closed the door to the shared room within the tavern, careful not to wake his sleeping brother. 

Tommy had passed out some three hours or so ago. He had cried for some time, occasionally asking for Phil or Wilbur, sometimes for Techno, mostly for Tubbo. Too often for Dream. 

Techno felt a sickening twisting within him whenever he heard Tommy’s voice pleading for Dream. For Dream to help him, for Dream to stop...apologising to Dream….

He turned down the stairs and made his way into the now empty dining hall of the tavern, thumbing the emerald in his ear. Dream had far, far too much to answer for. 

He heard Ranboo’s startled chirp as he reached the dining hall, the boy was sitting by the window, a steaming mug within his hands and a blanket around his shoulders. 

“What are _mrrp_ -what are you doing up?” the boy shifted worriedly. 

“Can’t sleep.” Techno sat down on a chair opposite him, kicking his boots up onto the nearby table. “You? Ya planning on trying to finish what you set out to do?” 

“No!” Ranboo flicked his tail nervously. “Hell no! There’s no way in hell I could take you on alone.” 

“So you’d still try to kill me?” Techno raised an eyebrow. 

_Traitor…_

_Mistake…_

_Kick the baby…_

_Baby…_

_Mistake…_

_Mistake is confused…_

_Mistake…_

Ranboo stiffened. “I don’t...I don’t know.” 

“If I may ask,” Techno crossed his arms. “Why?” 

“Same reasons I gave you before.” Ranboo seemed to relax, taking a sip from his mug. “I don’t know you well enough to judge you. But…” 

He paused, his ears twitching. “The more I know of you, you don’t seem all that bad.” 

“You don’t think I did all those things the Butcher Party accused me of?” Techno chuckled. 

“No,” Ranboo took another sip. “I’m fairly certain you did.” 

“And do you not think I should answer for my crimes then?” Techno asked, curious. 

“I don’t know.” Ranboo gripped the mug. “Every time someone does something to you, you respond, either to defend yourself or get revenge. And then they respond in the same way, and then you respond, and the cycle just keeps going.” 

Techno nodded. “I’ll put my sword down when they do, it’s not that hard to understand.” 

“You know they won’t though.” the boy said quietly. “Everyone seems to think they’re in the right.” 

“And?” Techno placed his boots back on the ground, leaning forward to study the piebald’s face. “Do you think anyone’s right?” 

Ranboo seemed to think for a moment. “I think everyone has a right to their feelings, but I don’t think there is a ‘right’ side to all of this.” 

“You just want to be left alone, not used as a weapon for other’s purposes.” he continued. “They just want justice for what they believe was a wrongdoing.” 

“Was it wrong?” Techno continued to pry, the boy was intriguing. 

“Well, like you said,” Ranboo met his eyes cautiously. “You _did_ state your conditions clearly.” 

“But?” the man twitched his ears. 

“But,” the boy continued to look at him, unflinchingly. “I don’t agree with it.” 

Techno laughed. “Fair enough! And you wouldn’t be the first.” 

“You seem to have a very ‘eye for an eye’ mentality, Mr. Blade.” Ranboo’s eyes darkened. “An understandable mentality, and not a wrong one per say. But, how much longer do you think you can live this way until the entire world goes blind?” 

“Until I die.” Techno stated flatly. “Which I don’t plan on ever doing.” 

“Heh!” he chuckled. “Maybe once the world is blind, they won’t bother me anymore.”

Ranboo frowned, returning to his mug. 

“You planning on going through with killing me?” The man asked. 

“No.” the boy replied, rather quickly. “I won’t fight you unless you give me a reason to.” 

“Have I not?” Techno gestured towards the boy’s chest. “I hurt you pretty bad back when you first attempted to kill me. I hurt you again this afternoon.” 

“You were defending yourself.” Ranboo shook his head. “And you had no reason to trust me. I don’t hold a grudge for that.” 

Techno grinned.  
_Strange boy…_

_Mistake is wise…_

_Kill it…_

_Kick the baby…_

_Smash the pearl…_

_Kill it…_

_Mistake is stupid…_

_Smart boy…_

“What?” Ranboo flicked his tail. “What do you think is so funny about this?” 

“You’re fascinating.” Techno leaned back against his chair. “You hold such similar and yet vastly different ideals to my own, it’s intriguing.” 

“I hold ideals that have allowed me to survive, Mr. Blade.” the boy took another sip from the mug. 

“As do I.” Techno flashed his tusks. 

“Tell me, Ranboo.” he eyed the boy. The half enderman hardly bore any scars, he carried himself with an air of dignity despite the looks he must surely receive for his heritage; how had he matured, Techno wondered, into how he was now? 

“What about your past has moulded you into this, I wonder?” he asked. 

“Nothing too different from you I’d assume.” Ranboo set his mug beside him. “A hybrid trying to survive in a world that fears them. Had to adapt, had to keep myself alive, ended up having to quell the flames before they got too dangerous.” 

“You became a negotiator.” Techno nodded. 

“I came to see as many sides as I could before reacting.” Ranboo pulled the blanket further up himself. 

“And how far do you think that’s gotten you currently? Where you are now in L’Manberg?” Techno pulled his braid before him and began to undoing it. 

“I…” The boy trailed off. “I don’t know.” 

“I’ve just-I’ve done what I thought was right at the time but…” he curled his tail about his legs. “I’m still so torn.” 

“Everything is just so gray…” he added quietly. 

“Hmmm.” Techno combed his fingers through his hair before beginning to re-plait the pink locks. 

_Piebald…_

_Black and white…_

_Never black and white…_

_Piebald is right…_

_Gray…_

_Gray…_

_Blind…_

_Gray…_

_Kick the baby…_

“Hypothetically,” Techno asked. “If you had the chance, if it was possible,” 

He stared back at the piebald. “Would you kill me?” 

Ranboo shook his head. “You’re Tommy’s brother.” 

“Why would that make a difference?” Techno tied off the end of his braid. 

“Because Tommy’s my friend.” Ranboo was adamant. “He’s already gone through enough, I wouldn’t add another dead brother onto the list of hells he’s been through.” 

Techno smiled, softer this time. 

“So, there _is_ something we can agree on.” he stood. 

“Keep Tommy from getting hurt any further.” Ranboo nodded. 

“So then,” Techno turned to him. “You won’t tell him about Tubbo’s involvement in the Butcher Party?” 

Ranboo was silent for a long moment. 

“One brother trying to kill the other,” the man crossed his arms. “I don’t think he’d take well to that.” 

“I won’t tell him.” Ranboo finally said. “I don’t know what will happen, but I don’t want him to suffer any further. If this keeps him from hurting, at least for a bit, I won’t tell him.” 

Techno held his hand out to the boy.

“On your honour?” 

The boy took it. 

“On yours.” he gripped Techno’s hand. A warning. 

The man returned in kind, leaving small claw marks on the back of the boy’s hand before he released him. Despite the differing opinions he and the boy held, he couldn’t help but proud of him. Ranboo was a neutral subject, much like himself, chaotic but neutral. And with his core intentions only being to stop or avoid conflict, the boy was admirable. 

It was good to see someone with a sense of honour. 

It was good to see his son had managed to retain that aspect, despite having never known who his father was. 

He would never tell him though. 

...

The next morning, Techno woke to the sound of Tommy’s annoyed screeching. 

“What the actual fuck Ghostbur?!” 

Techno groaned, dragging himself out of bed only to be met with the sight of his younger brother throwing a pillow through the shade that floated upside down below the rafters. 

“I was just saying goodmorning-Oh!” The ghost waved at Techno. “Morning Technoblade!” 

Techno blinked. 

_Ghostbur…_

_Ghostbur…_

_Dead boi…_

_Traitor.._

_Punch the ghost…_

_Hehe Tommy’s mad…_

_Ghostbur made Tommy mad…_

He fell back onto the bed, grabbing is own pillow and shoving it over his face, letting out a frustrated noise that shouldn’t have been possible with just human vocal chords, before finally sitting back up. 

“Hi, Wilbur.” he rubbed his temple. 

“Tommy’s mad.” the ghost commented. 

“You think I’m mad?! Oh you bitch you’ve not seen mad!” the boy stood up on his bed, throwing another pillow at the ghost. It flew through the shade’s incorporeal vapour and towards Techno’s face. 

He caught it and immediately threw it back with enough force to knock the boy onto his backside on the bed. 

“Ow!” Tommy hissed, rubbing his shoulder as his wounds flared up from the impact. “What the fuck?! How strong are you?! That felt like a brick?!” 

“Strong enough.” Techno stood, gingerly stretching his arms, inspecting his own wounds. They were no where close to being completely healed, but they were manageable at least. Still horrendously sore and would no doubt continue to tire him throughout the day. But they were no longer the unbearable agony they had been some days ago. 

There was that at least. 

“Techno!” 

He shuddered as the chill of Wilbur’s hand seeped through his chest. 

“We match!” the ghost smiled. 

Techno glanced down to what his brother had meant, his heart sinking slightly as he noticed Wilbur’s hand placed over the puncture wound on his chest, still bound beneath a layer of bandage. Still stained a dark brown from where it had leaked overnight. 

He must have strained it at some point yesterday, he thought to himself. 

“I guess so.” he said. 

“Except you’re not dead!” the ghost drew away. “Which is good but I mean, isn’t that cool? We’re finally matching twins!” 

Techno felt a faint, sad smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Gods that was so stupid! Why would he smile at that comment?

“Yup.” he tried not to look at the stain on Wilbur’s sweater, from where...Phil had....

He shook his head. “Alright Tommy, you seem to keep being incredibly hostile towards anyone that you meet.” 

Tommy crossed his arms, scowling. 

“More so than you normally do.” Techno mimicked his little brother’s motions. “What’s your deal with this one?” 

“This misty bastard!” Tommy pointed at Wilbur. “Didn’t deliver the fucking invitations! Apparently!” 

Wilbur seemed to freeze up. 

“Was...was I supposed to?” he blinked. 

“Were you-were you supposed to?!” Tommy’s voice squeaked with rage, before morphing into manic laughter. 

“I hand made, individual invitations!” he cackled. “Wrote them all! Addressed them all! To all my supposed ‘friends’!” 

“And then!” he stood, glaring at the ghost. “And then! I entrusted them to YOU!” 

Wilbur flinched. “Tommy I-” 

“Do you have any idea how fucking lonely I was on that gods damned island?!” Tommy shrieked. “I spent fucking weeks there! Weeks! I couldn’t see anyone unless they were allowed in and oh boy were they sure waiting in lines to see me!” 

“Tommy-” the boy cut him off once more. 

“And then I finally, FINALLY, get permission to see more than one person!” Tommy returned to laughing, tears in his eyes. “I get to throw a party! I get to invite all my old friends! I made little hand written notes for them! I spend days planning the whole thing! I look forward to seeing all my good old buddies again and who DO YOU THINK FUCKING SHOWED WHEN THAT DAY CAME?!” 

“After I TRUSTED YOU!” he began to scream. “I trusted you to help me Wilbur! I trusted you! But oh no! You just had conveniently forget to give them out didn’t you?!”

Techno noticed the ghost seeming to swallow back tears, if that was even possible. 

“Tommy-” 

“Shut up!” Tommy screamed. “Just shut the fuck up! I don’t want to hear your fucking excuses! Do you have any idea what it’s been like for me?!” 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?!” he began to bawl. “To think you have friends that-that actually care about you? Only-only to then- to then stab you in the back?! And then lie to you about it?! And then-then make you question everything?! DO YOU?!” 

He glared through tear streaked eyes at Techno and Wilbur. 

The twins only glanced at each other, wordlessly. 

“Of course you don’t!” Tommy grabbed another pillow from the bed and swung it at Wilbur. “You’d never-” 

Techno caught his arm. 

“Tommy.” he said softly. 

“Calm.” he placed his other hand around the boy, pulling him close. 

His little brother was shaking as he dropped the pillow and went limp against him. Sobbing. 

He held the boy against him, stroking his hair, glancing up at Wilbur with an unspoken plea. 

_Baby…_

_Baby is hurt…_

_Tommy hurt…_

_We love you Tommy…_

_Don’t cry…_

_Kick the-_

_Don’t cry Tommy…_

_We love you…_

_We love you Tommy…_

“Dream told me not to give the invitations out.” Wilbur finally said. 

Tommy continued to cry, wrapping his arms around Techno as he buried his face in his shoulder. 

“...figured…’s much…” he choked between shaky sobs. 

“I didn’t know why, I thought it would be a bad idea.” Wilbur continued to explain. “I really wanted to see you happy but, Dream told me not to.” 

“He said he’d hurt you.” his hollow voice seemed to break. “He said if I did anything, told you or told the others or gave them the invites, he’d hurt you.” 

_Traitor…_

_BASTARD!_

_Dream hurt Tommy…_

_KILL HIM!_

_KILL DREAM!_

_Make him pay…_

_MAKE HIM PAY!_

_Saved your life…_

_Debts…_

_Make them pay…_

_Pay the debts..._

Techno flinched as Tommy dug his fingers into his back at the explanation, but said nothing. 

“I-I don’t want you to be hurt anymore, Tommy.” Wilbur hung his head. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt anymore.” 

“I messed up again, didn’t I.” the ghost said quietly. 

Techno pried Tommy back, choking back the ache that had begun to form in his chest at the sight of his little brother, eyes red and streaked with tears. 

“Tommy, I need you to listen to me.” he wiped a tear from the boy’s cheek. “Dream is not your friend.” 

Tommy sniffed, wiping at his nose. “But-” 

“Dream is NOT your friend.” Techno repeated. “He’s hurt you, he’s made you reliant on him, he’s made you question yourself but Tommy!” 

“Tommy look at me.” the boy met his eyes. “You are not crazy. You’ve been manipulated and hurt but you are NOT crazy!” 

“You’re strong, Tommy.” Techno pulled him back into an embrace. “You’re so fucking strong to have lived through that.” 

“And I promise,” he hugged the boy close. “As long as I’m alive you will NEVER have to live through that again!” 

“But…” he heard Tommy’s muffled voice. “...what if Dream…” 

“Dream would have to kill me to get to you.” Techno gave him a reassuring pat. “Which would be pretty much impossible seeing as I don’t plan on ever dying.” 

The boy smirked. 

The morning passed slowly. 

Coldly and slowly. 

Tommy continued to hang his head, staring at the floor as Wilbur awkwardly tried to make conversation. He barely touched the breakfast Techno brought up for him, picking at it sluggishly, still comprehending yesterday and that morning’s revelations. 

It would be awhile before he was fully himself again, Techno thought as he tied his boots in place before strapping a dagger to his thigh. 

It would be awhile before he could fully come to terms with it himself. 

Not only did he now have to deal with sending L’Manberg a message to leave him alone- gods when would they get through their thick skulls to just stop bothering him?- he now had to find a way to help Tommy heal. 

And keep Dream at bay.

Wilbur had left with Ranboo, saying their goodbyes an hour before Techno decided on a plan of action. He spoken to Wilbur to keep Ranboo away from his house, still not completely trusting the boy, and tasked him with helping back home. It wasn’t hard to convince the ghost, Ranboo was hopelessly lost and desperately in need of someone to accompany him on his journey back. 

His own goodbye with Ranboo was little more than a knowing nod, which the boy returned after giving Tommy a quick fist-bump. 

An unspoken agreement to never mention the events of the night before, nor the certain brother involved in the Butcher Party. 

After the ghost and the piebald hybrid had disappeared past the horizon, Techno finally hoisted Tommy up onto Carl’s back before joining him, and the two began their own journey home. 

_Home…_

_Home is nice…_

_Tommy has a home now…_

_Tommy…._

_Welcome home Tommy…_

_Stay with us…_

_Welcome home…_

“How you holding up there kid?” Techno asked after they cleared the border of the village. 

“Pretty shit.” Tommy leaned back against his chest. 

Techno winced and pushed him forward. “You want me to die or something? I got stabbed there.” 

“Dick.” his brother huffed. “You let me hug you earlier.” 

“You were crying.” Techno gave Carl a nudge with his boot, the charger snorted and began to pick up speed. “You get exceptions when you’re crying.” 

“Oh so the whole ‘brotherly love’ bit you were doing back there is only cause I was being a wuss?” he knew Tommy was smiling. 

“Yup.” Techno grinned with sarcasm. “Only crybabies get hugs.” 

He ruffled his little brother’s hair. Tommy slapped his hand aside. 

“Other than shit though,” Techno asked. “How else you feeling?” 

Tommy sighed. “Tired.” 

“You slept pretty soundly.” the older man commented. “What do you mean by that?” 

“Just...I dunno.” his brother slumped forward. “I’m just tired.” 

“Tired of all this bullshit with L’Manberg. Tired of running. Tired of Dream.” he swallowed. “Tired of watching everything I love and worked for get burnt.” 

“...why does everything I love just get burnt?” he whispered. 

Techno’s ears twitched. 

_L’Manberg blew up…_

_L’Manberg was burnt…_

_Tried to rebuild…_

_Tubbo was burnt…_

_Explode the child…_

_Hurt the baby…_

_Hurt your brother…_

_Thought Wilbur burned…_

_Doesn’t know…_

_He doesn’t know…_

_What else has burned…._

_Dream burned him…_

_Dream will burn…_

_They’ll all burn…._

Techno shook his head. 

“He’d burn all my stuff you know.” Tommy stated. “Dream did. Every time I managed to make something and had for it about a day, he’d come by and blow it up or burn it. Just...kinda made it pointless to even try after awhile.” 

Techno felt rage beginning to boil at the back of his throat. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t buy anything for myself.” the boy continued. “I’m just...I don’t think…” 

“It’s ok.” Techno nodded. “I get why.” 

“I’m just...worried I guess.” Tommy shrugged. 

“I promise, I won’t burn your stuff.” Techno assured him. 

A thought suddenly struck him. 

“Actually…” he flicked Carl’s reins as they neared the house, leaving the trail and beginning to head towards the cliff base of the nearby mountain. 

“Actually what?” 

“Dream took your discs didn’t he.” Techno’s mind began to race. A plan forming in his mind. The voices whispered at the back of his head excitedly. 

“Wow, gee, thanks for the reminder.” Tommy hissed. “Yes he took my fucking discs!” 

_Debts must be paid…_

_Eye for an eye…_

_Eye for an eye…_

_Pay…_

_Make them pay…_

_Make them pay…_

_Help the boy…_

_Make them pay…_

“Under threat that he’d destroy them if you tried to leave?” Techno let Carl guide them down a familiar path. One he hadn’t walked in months. 

“Why do you feel the need to remind me of the things I really don’t want to fucking remember?” Tommy snapped. “You forget what happened this morning?” 

“And he threatened to kill all of L’Manberg as well? That was the agreement of your exile?” Techno was no longer merely talking to his brother, so much as he was plotting out loud. 

“Yes! Gods what the fuck is wrong with you today?” Tommy groaned. 

“What if there was no L’Manberg to threaten?” Techno grinned. 

_Make them pay…_

_Make them pay…_

_Make them pay…_

“Excuse me?” Tommy sounded confused. “Wha-what do you mean? Kill everyone?!” 

“No! No no no!” Techno shook his head. “Gods no! Not everyone!” 

“Look, here’s my plan.” he began. “I got attacked and this idiot group of boys calling themselves the Butcher Party, tried to kill me. I need to ensure they never try something like that again.” 

“You,” he continued. “Want your discs back. That’s how this whole mess started after all, your discs for L’Manberg?” 

“I don’t follow.” Tommy shifted nervously. 

“Dream and his idea of what L’Manberg is,” Techno explained. “Is the root of this issue. Cut L’Manberg out of his control, and he has no leverage against the discs. Cut the discs out of his control, and he has no leverage for L’Manberg.” 

“Are you trying to get me to side with you-” 

“Do you want your discs back or not Tommy?” Techno finally reined in Carl, halting in front of a smoothed, cliff face. 

The boy seemed to ponder for a long while, before finally letting out a puff of frosted, tied breath into the snow chilled air. 

“Yes.” he sighed. “But whatever it is you’re planning, I don’t want to hurt Tubbo.” 

Techno dropped from Carl’s saddle, helping Tommy down as he grinned, his mind was churning. 

He didn’t know how to respond to that, he didn’t know what to think about Tubbo, his brother who’d betrayed him. But that could be addressed later. For now, Tommy was all that mattered. 

“Techno what is this?” the boy asked as Techno led him to the sheer cliff face. 

“A little something, little project I’ve been working on.” the man grinned, his tusks flashing. The voices were beginning to hiss in anticipation. 

_Project…_

_Hide the project…_

_Hunting…_

_Kill them all…_

_So much hunting…_

_Tired…_

_Worth it…_

_Phil mustn’t know…_

_Don’t tell Phil…_

_Help Tommy…_

_We love you Tommy…_

He brushed away a bit of snow from a small, rectangular outline on the cliff face. 

“I need you to stand right here.” he indicated the spot before the marking in the stone.

“You’re not going to kill me are you?” Tommy took a step back, skeptically. “Is that why you brought me here?” 

“What? No!” Techno laughed. “What would be the point? If I wanted to I’d have already done so.” 

“...I guess you’re right.” Tommy stood on the indicated mark. 

Techno pointed back at the marking on the cliff. “You see this wall?” 

Tommy nodded. “Yeah?” 

Techno made a motion, indicating to the boy to press the marking, before stepping back. 

For a long moment, there was silence, with only the sounds of the faint, snow filled wind drifting about the mountain. For a minute, Techno thought maybe Tommy wouldn’t press the mark. 

Until he did. 

The sounds of hundreds of gears clicking and heavy stone scraping against itself echoed through the air as a massive door way split open from the cliff face, opening wide to reveal a long, dark catacomb-like structure. 

Techno felt his heart race. 

Beside him he heard Tommy’s sucked in breath finally release in a shriek as the light from outside filtered onto the rows upon rows upon rows of blackened whither skulls lining the walls. 

“WHAT THE SHIT!” the boy dropped to his knees. “WHAT THE FUCK?!” 

Techno grabbed the boy’s arm and pulled him back to his feet, guiding him into the catacomb. 

“Holy fuck! Techno!” the boy stammered at the sight. “What the hell?! Just how many of these fuckers have you killed holy fucking shit!” 

Techno finally stopped as they reached the back of the catacomb, releasing Tommy’s hand as he neared a massive black chest. Without a second’s hesitation, he kicked the lid open and dug inside, withdrawing a dark, purply black breast plate and helmet before presenting it to Tommy. 

“Welcome home Theseus!” he cackled. 

Baffled, surprised, and with tears in his eyes, his brother hesitantly took the breastplate. 

“Wha- what?” 

“Let’s see Dream try to burn this!” Techno flung an arm around Tommy, laughing as the boy dropped back to his knees, a smile slowly growing on his face. 

_Burn Dream…_

_Burn Dream…_

_Welcome home…._

_Welcome home Tommy…_

_Welcome home Theseus…_

At the back of his mind, he could swear he heard Wilbur’s voice echoing through the catacomb’s cold walls as his little brother stared in awe and love and terror up at him.

_Tell her to reap it with a sickle of leather_

_(Blazing in scarlet battalions)_

He was going to save Phil.

_Sober and grave grows merry in time_

_(Generals order their soldiers to kill)_

He was going to send L’Manberg a message they would’t easily forget.

_And gather it all in a bunch of heather_

_(A cause they've long ago forgotten)_

He was going to make Dream pay for what he did.

_Then she'll be a true love of mine_


	14. Life lived on life. There were the eaters and the eaten.- Jack London, White Fang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quackity has finally awoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this?! A cliffhanger?! 
> 
> CW: graphic description of facial wound, blood, glass shards in a hand, injury to tongue, licking of one's own blood 
> 
> Look he's gone off the rails ok?

Puffy bolted through the door of the communal infirmary, scythe raised in preparation. The crashing sound couldn’t have possibly been any of the wounded or sick within, they had to be under attack, she thought. 

She immediately lowered her scythe, however, as she realised what had caused the sound. 

Staring into a now shattered and blood splattered mirror on the infirmary wall, was her dark haired patient. 

She didn’t know whether to sigh in relief that Quackity was finally awake, or turn to run at the sight of his blazing eyes as he looked back at her. 

His face was now permanently torn into a broken grin on his left side. His jaw hung crooked, held in place with a myriad of thick wires. His cheek was split, his teeth missing, his eye and cheekbone caved in. It was hard to tell if he was smiling or snarling. 

“Hello nurse.” his voice was raspy. And laced in venom. 

Puffy took a step back. 

“If you just woke up you really shouldn’t be walking around just yet.” she tried to keep her voice steady. 

“Oh I’m fine, Puffy.” Quackity straightened, his voice maintaining it’s toxic hiss. “I’m just a bit antsy to get back on my feet is all.” 

He held a hand up, covered in blood and broken glass and grinned, truly grinned. 

“I’ve got a boar to hunt.” 

He licked the blood from his hand, cutting his tongue on the broken shards of glass. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is the second installation of Nothing Goes Wrong. I suggest reading the first one to understand some of the context.  
> I've fleshed a few things out since the first installation, so here's some context notes:
> 
> .Is this a medieval AU or post apocalypse? - technically both, I imagined the world is set up like a medieval setting after some major catastrophe that wiped out the majority of what we know of as our own world. The new world is set up similar to how minecraft works, but realistic rather than actually in game. Hybrids are mutations, endermen are possibly aliens, and villagers are mute humanoids that aren't quite human, but are human enough. 
> 
> .What is the Blood Fever?- I wanted a reason as to why there aren't that many adults past their twenties in the world, so I decided on a highly contagious disease that only affects people over a certain age and is mostly fatal. Like reverse chicken pox but worse. 
> 
> .Does it have something to do with the Blood Egg arch?- .....................maybe.............
> 
> .Tubbo, Tommy, Wilbur, and Techno are adopted siblings, Wilbur and Techno are twins. 
> 
> . Estimated ages of characters are:  
> \- Techno: 35?  
> \- Wilbur: 35 but dead?  
> \- Philza: probably 51?  
> -Tubbo: 16?  
> -Tommy: 16?  
> -Ranboo: 17?  
> -Fundy: 16-18?  
> \- Quackity: 19? 
> 
> The ages are only based on the idea that Ranboo is Techno's son and I don't want things to be awkward so he was probably born when Techno was 18. And Philza was 16 when he found Wilbur and Techno, who were 4. Possibly? 
> 
> Pretty much everyone except Tommy, Dream, and Quackity are hybrids but Dream is definitely NOT human. But that's for a later instalment. 
> 
> There are a lot of flashbacks and flash-forwards, I've indicated the differences with Many Years Ago underlined and a _____ as a gap between scenes that take place at different times. Hopefully it's not too confusing. 
> 
> This work is based on the Dream SMP role play characters and NOT the content creators themselves, however if the content creators express at any time that they are uncomfortable with these depictions, I will remove this work. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! I look forward to continuing this series until I hit burnout!


End file.
